Changes in Friendship
by FrenchieLeigh
Summary: Bakumatsu: Amidst a raging war, two pairs of lovers struggle to hold their ground against the crushing waves of fate. But when strength and steel aren't enough to save them, they must look within and take their places in the budding new world. Okita/OC, Saitou/Tokio
1. Reunion

**Author's Note:**

It's been a while, hasn't it? Eight years if I'm not mistaken. For those of you who are _still_ here (though I don't think there are any), bless you. For new readers, welcome.

I have recently come back to to see my fourteen year old self and what I had done to the world of fanfiction. I see I hadn't contributed much of anything worth reading.

Having a nostalgic attachment to these stories, I have come for a re-do. A do over. To put my thoughts and plans for these characters into a more respectable form of literature and give you, the reader, a bit more enjoyment in doing so.

Because of the large gap in time from the original write up to the re-write, certain things may change, be added, or omitted. For artistic reasons, I reserve the right to play around with history

I do hope you enjoy :)

Yours in fiction,

Celeste

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs

**Changes In Friendship**

_Chapter One_

Yamata Shousha was not an obedient girl. In fact, she thoroughly enjoyed making a point of being unruly and uncontrollable. It was for this reason, or so she assumed, that she was twenty-three years old and unmarried. She didn't mind not being married; she enjoyed her freedom, but it got quite irritating to walk down the street to the sound of gossipy whispers day in and day out.

This was why, standing in her parent's very modern, very western home, she leveled her gaze to her mother.

"Why haven't you married me off yet?" she demanded, crossing her arms.

Her mother, a serious woman with a spiteful soul, didn't even look up from her calligraphy. "The time is not right."

Her father sat in an armchair reviewing his ledgers. Shousha cast an annoying glance in his direction. Had she been younger, he might have stood up for her. With the war raging, he had become absorbed in the family finances, pulling political strings here and there to keep himself on top.

"What do you mean the time isn't right?" Shousha spat, stomping her foot.

"Are you in such a hurry?" the woman asked lazily, concentrating on her perfect brush strokes, "As much as I would love to send you off to the man who might be able to tame you, he might very well die and then we would be saddled with you forever. It is not a chance I am willing to take, so we will keep you for now."

Her father grunted in response.

Frustrated, Shousha turned and left the room, colliding with her maid who had been headed (rather hurriedly) towards the front door.

"My apologies, miss!" the maid cried out just loud enough for the mistress to hear, before dropping her voice and donning a feline grin. "They're not in the mood to play today, are they Shousha?"

Shousha pouted and looked to her friend, "I'm terribly bored, Tokio."

"And lonely," Tokio pointed out.

"Yes," the young miss sighed, "and lonely."

"Chin up miss. He'll be back soon."

Shousha plopped herself down onto the staircase and shoved her chin into her cupped hands. "I didn't want him to go in the first place. What if he is already dead? How long am I going to have to wait?"

Tokio patted her head lovingly and laughed, "You are too dramatic. Waiting for your long lost love like that makes me jealous."

Shousha swatted her hand away in protest, "He's not my long lost love! He's my best friend."

Tokio rolled her eyes and then peeked around the hall for any sight of the mistress or master. She'd received many a lashing before for being informal towards the family, but she wasn't planning on one today.

"Let's go out," she suggested, pulling Shousha up to a stand, "If you sit around the house and mope all day, you'll grow old and he won't recognize you."

With a smile, she agreed and the two girls headed out towards the marketplace.

"Do you ever plan on marrying, Tokio?" Shousha asked as they walked through the crowded streets of Kyoto.

"Ah, probably not," she admitted, laughing, "there was no arrangement made for me to marry and I don't suppose there is a man out there with his eyes out for a maid."

Shousha nodded. It was true. Her parents never gave the servants much time to themselves in order for them to have any sort of family life. Tokio was very beautiful; it was a shame she didn't have any opportunity to be married.

"Besides," Tokio added with a bright smile, "I have to work hard to care for my family."

Shousha smiled back, and held up the packages they had gathered on their outing, "It's getting dark. We should go home before-"

But it was too late. A flash of navy and white brushed by her and all of her purchases fell to the ground. Tokio called out to her friend but was knocked to the ground. Shousha reached over to help, but was intercepted by more masculine blurs. A bench broke her fall as she stumbled back, and she reached up to her throat to calm her breathing.

The sun had set and the clouds were rolling in over the moon. Since the rise of the Shinsengumi in Mibu, she had not been outside after dark by herself. She knew the dangers and even as rebellious as she was, had no intention of putting her life at stake. These were terrifying times and there were too many instances of 'wrong place at the wrong time' for her to believe that she might not be next.

But here she was, in the dark, outside, and there was a battle about to start on the streets. Tokio had been pulled into a shop, but she couldn't seem to move. Maybe it was for the better. If no one saw her, maybe they wouldn't hurt her. She closed her eyes as several footsteps approached her. Her heartbeat quickened and she did her best to shrink into the shadows. _I'm not here. I'm not here. I'm not here._

"Are you stupid, woman? Get inside!"

Shousha opened one of her eyes and flinched. Before her stood a very tall, very menacing, very _irritated_ Shinsengumi officer. His face was as angular as the hair that fell over his forehead and he wore a scowl that might very well frighten her mother into her grave.

"I-I'm sorry," she whispered, "I was frightened."

"Don't play dumb with me," he growled, yanking her to her feet with a threatening grip on her wrist, "I know who you are. Your family has been causing quite a bit of trouble."

"Oh please, sir," she whimpered, not at all ashamed of being fearful of this horrifying man. "I don't know what you're talking about."

It was true. She knew that both her parents were politically active in the shadows of society where the most corrupt dealings were made to happen. She also knew that neither Choshu nor Shinsengumi were particularly fond of their business practices, though both seemed to be caught in their web. Being an unmarried maiden, Shousha had little need to know, as well as little ability to learn more about the situation.

"Please," she begged again, trying in vain to pull back her arm from the man's solid hold.

Just then, another man stepped forward.

"Saitou-san, what's going on here?"

_That voice._

Saitou grunted and shoved Shousha back onto the bench. "Nothing for you to concern yourself with, Okita. Let's go."

Stepping into the light, Okita, a boyish looking man with a bright smile, knelt down to Shousha and grabbed her hand.

"My deepest apologies, miss. Saitou-san can be a little rough, but he doesn't mean any harm. Please, you must let me take you to safety."

Perhaps it was the grunting and clashing of swords just a couple feet over, or the sudden roaring wind in her ears, but she didn't hear anything he was saying. She watched his lips move, she felt him patting her hand, but all she could do was stare.

_He was here_. In front of her eyes, touching her, he was here. He was real, and he was _alive._

"Ta-chan."

All she could do was whisper, but through the surrounding noise, it was enough. He brought his eyes up to meet hers and pure recognition flashed through them. His grip on her hands became tighter, as if he didn't ever want to let her go, then suddenly, it was gone.

"Yamata-san."

Shousha's heart sank. He had never in their entire lives addressed her so formally. All the warmth and the laughter was gone from his voice, despite his cheerful appearance. She was nothing to him. Not anymore.

"We must get you to safety. Come with me," he urged, pulling her up, but she snapped out of her daze and dug her heels into the ground. Who did he think he was leaving her for five years only to come back and address her like a stranger?

All the years of sorrow had suddenly turned to rage and try as she might to control it, she simply couldn't. She masterfully pulled her hand from his grip and took a step back, glaring at him. He stared back at her, in shock that she was tuning out her bloody surroundings for a reason unbenownst to him.

"You left me," she hissed.

Okita couldn't believe what he was hearing. She had aways been daring and unorthodox, but here in the streets of Kyoto, in the middle of bloodshed, she wanted to start an argument!

"Yamata-san, please. Come with me. I don't want you to get hurt."

"You left me all alone," she whimpered, backing up onto the cusp of the battle. "For _years_."

Then, completely overcome by emotion, Shousha did something completely inappropriate and unlike herself.

She fainted.

Okita dove to catch the falling woman and at the same time she landed in his arm, his sword clashed with that of an unexpected opponent, causing sparks to rain down on the unconscious female. With a grunt and all the strength he could muster in one arm, he pushed himself up and the other man backwards.

"Don't touch her!" he yelled, dancing to the side as the man came back for more. Okita wasn't a large man so holding a woman awkwardly half over his shoulder compromised his normally incredible speed.

The man in navy came at him again, throwing his balance off just enough for Shousha to slip from his hold and roll onto the ground. Okita glanced in her direction for half a second too long and when he blocked the slashing of the katana, he felt himself exhale in surprise. Their swords weren't a centimeter from his shoulder.

"Almost lost an arm there, didn't you?"

Shaking himself from his relief, Okita ducked down and in one large and beautiful swing, sliced through his enemy's abdomen. The man let out a strangled cry, then fell to the ground, eyes open and mouth streaming blood. The others were dead as well, along with one of his comrades.

Catching his breath, he knelt to the ground, he checking Shousha's neck for a pulse and, when finding it, picked her up with little difficulty. Saitou hovered over him disapprovingly.

"You aren't thinking of taking her back," he challenged, knowing just how much trouble she would be. "She's a nuisance."

"Nonsense," Okita said plainly, motioning with his head to the others to head back to headquarters, "She's a dear friend. I can't leave her here."

Their walk back to the dojo they were using as their base was relatively silent as Okita was taking in the fact that he had been distracted enough to almost lose an arm, and Saitou was brooding about the thought of another woman at the dojo. The Shinsengumi wives were irritating enough with all their chatter and their gossip. An unmarried female would bring chaos.

It wasn't until the men had almost reached their destination when the clip-clap of geta could be heard. It was a frantic, unsteady rhythm as if the owner of the shoes was in a state of panic or having extreme difficulty with their own feet.

"Please!" a woman's voice cried out. "Please stop!"

The men all halted, turning to the darkness to the west where a small, slender woman emerged, doing her best to run towards them. Saitou's hand immediately lay to rest on the hilt of his sword.

"Oh please," she gasped, stopping just long enough to catch her breath. It wasn't dignified, and it wasn't at all ladylike, but manners be damned, women's clothing wasn't made for sprinting in.

"Give me. . .give me that girl."

Okita raised his eyebrows at this request. He wasn't sure which was stranger to him: seeing a grown woman panting in the middle of the street or said woman's request.

"And just who do you think you are?" Saitou sneered, stepping forward.

Still bent over, she placed her hands on her knees and jerked her head up to look him in the eye.

"My name is Takagi Tokio," she snapped, "and _that _is my mistress."

Finally finding her breath, she straightened and marched up to level with him defiantly. Shousha may have had a delicate upbringing, but she hadn't. She had no fear of the Shinsengumi or their 'toy swords' as she so often called them.

"Give her back. _Now._"

This sent a wave of laughter through the group of men, leaving Saitou even more unamused than before. Before any real damage could have been done, however, Okita stepped in.

"Takagi-san," he addressed her politely, "I'm afraid I can't let you take her home just yet. She is injured and will need to be monitored until she awakens."

Narrowing her eyes, Tokio raised her chin. "Do you believe me incapable of taking care of my own mistress?"

"No," he said with a knowing smile, "but I do believe you incapable of hiding her injuries from the lady of the house without punishment. Kanako-san has a very keen eye."

She opened her mouth to retort, but caught the laughter in his eyes. With a wide grin, she clapped her hands and gave a little bounce, before bowing deeply.

"Oh, Okita-san! It's you!"

"Yes. It's me."

She stared up at him dreamily. "Shousha talks of nothing else, you know."

Okita shifted Shousha's weight almost to visualize his discomfort. He had thought she had been talking out of shock when she had accused him, but it seemed that his leaving had done more damage than he imagined it ever would have.

Saitou crossed his arms and stepped towards the maid, gaining her attention. "It seems you no longer have any reason to be in our presence. Go."

But she didn't go. She crossed her arms back at him and glared at him. "I may be nothing more than a servant in the Yamata household, but here on the streets, I can hold my own and I will not take orders from a bully like you."

More snickers were elicited from the group followed by a humored, "Yeah Saitou, you big bully!"

Okita shrugged his shoulders playfully and began to walk away. "You may come to see her tomorrow afternoon, Takagi-san. If you don't know where to find us, ask around."

She bowed in thanks and smiled softly as he disappeared into the dark with his friend cradled limply in his arms.

"As for _you_," she said to Saitou with an arched brow as she pushed past him. "It seems I will deal with you tomorrow."

With a snarl, he grabbed her arm. "Don't be stupid, girl."

She smiled and patted his hand. "You're right. How silly of me. I simply can't walk home alone in the dark."

When he retold the story to his children, he would say that her grip was forceful, or she had daggers hidden in her kimono. He would say she held him at swordpoint, or even more threatening, _gunpoint_. No one would ever know that Saitou Hajime had accompanied Takagi Tokio the maid home that night because she had stunned him into compliance.


	2. Banter

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs

**Changes in Friendship**

_Chapter Two_

"Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!"

Nine year old Okita Soushi gripped his bokken firmly as he swung downwards in what would quickly become perfect rhythm. The sun was beating down on his little body, but he hardly cared. He was determined to perfect it.

Beside him, nearly ten years his senior, was Kondo Isami, watching intently.

"You're very good, Soushi," he remarked, "you're going to be a great swordsman someday."

"I have to be," he replied, keeping his eyes focused on the unseen enemy before him. "I've got to protect someone."

Kondo smiled. It was all Okita ever talked about- his friend Shousha. She was an amiable girl, if a tad bit spoiled, and Kondo enjoyed her company very much. She was a good friend to Okita and his driving force.

"Speaking of that someone," Kondo said, craning his neck to see a tiny body wobbling towards them, "here she comes now."

Okita quickly turned his expression to stone and, brow furrowed, displayed his kata with furious speed.

"Oooooh Ta-chan! You're so good!" Shousha called out to him from the platform of the house.

Okita turned away from her to indulge in a satisfied grin before facing her. With two hands, she was holding up a large wooden box. He could almost see her arms shaking from the weight, but her expression was wildly thrilled.

"Ta-chan! I brought lunch!"

The boy looked to Kondo, who nodded in approval and, forgetting all about his desire to become a strong fighter, he dropped his bokken and headed towards the food.

"Aw Shou-chan it looks so delicious!" he exclaimed, tiny hands balled up into excited fists.

"It _is_," she insisted, stuffing a dumpling into his mouth.

"Mmmmm phew mradwe wmmt?" he asked, not that he really cared who had made it. All that mattered was that it tasted good. He was, after all, a growing boy.

Shousha sat in the most ungraceful fashion, with her yukata pulled up above her knees, legs crossed, balancing a bowl of rice on one knee, and a plateful of fresh vegetables on the other. It was only a matter of time, she knew, before one (or both) fell over.

"Are you training all day today?" she asked, doing her best to pick up a small broccoli tree, despite it's deep place under all her other vegetables.

Okita paused, holding a dumpling before his mouth. "Until sundown," he replied.

Shousha looked downcast for a few seconds, before looking at him excitedly. "Do you want to go watch the fireflies tonight?"

Her friend grinned through his full mouth and nodded.

"Okay," she said, rising to her feet. Forgetting all about her bowl and plate, they crashed to the floor, spilling their contents across the wood. Kondo, who had been watching from the corner of his eye, let out a small snort of laughter.

"I'll see you later," Shousha said cheerily after she had haphazardly cleaned up her mess. "By the river. Don't forget!"

Okita smiled back and waved to her as she left.

"I could never forget."

xxxx

"So this is your mystery woman, eh?"

Okita's memories were interrupted as his friend Harada Sanosuke entered his room with little courtesy for his revered silence.

"Mystery woman?" He looked at Shousha laying on his futon, still unconscious. It had been several hours since he had returned with her, and though the physician had said she would have nothing more than a bruised forehead for a couple days, he couldn't help but worry for her condition.

"This girl. She's the one you've been talking about isn't she?"

Okita turned to him and smiled, "Yes Harada-san. She is indeed."

Harada furrowed his brow, "Why have you been hiding from her? She's so cute."

"Well," he started, now suddenly unsure of himself. "I didn't want her to get involved."

Harada leaned up against a wooden beam, beckoning Okita to go on. He had heard so much about this girl, this 'Shou-chan', as Okita sometimes affectionately called her, that he wanted to know just why his friend had abandoned her.

"Shousha is a very strong willed woman, Harada-san. I have no doubt in my mind that she would have done her best to stay by my side."

"Is that such a bad thing?"

"Maybe not," Okita mused, "I just. . ."

Harada understood. It was much easier to protect someone when you could keep them away from the danger, even if it meant to hurt them.

"What'll you do now?" he asked.

Okita gave a small laugh and stood to accept the tray of tea one of the wives had just brought in.

"I have no idea," he said truthfully, "For once, I have no plan whatsoever."

She stirred then and both the men turned to her. Harada tilted his head to Okita and swiftly left the room.

With a feminine groan and a soft sigh, Shousha sat up and rubbed her forehead. She felt as if she had been run over by a horse.

"Tokio," she murmered, "I need some tea or. . .something."

"I have some tea," Okita offered.

Instantly, her head snapped up and she turned to him. She suddenly realized that she was not at home. Tokio was not here with her, and while she should have been ecstatic having found the man she had been pining for all these years, she couldn't help but feel a strong, stinging disappointment as she stared at his smiling face.

It was the same face she had grown up with, the same face that had comforted her when she was sad, the same face that she longed to see more than anything, but why was it so different?

"Why?" she whispered.

Unsure of how to deal with this, he padded over and knelt before her.

"I'm sorry."

It was all he could think to say, but it was enough. She wrapped her arms around his chest and hugged him tightly.

"I've missed you so much. I've been so alone without you," she told him, taking deep breaths to calm herself. She wanted to be angry. She wanted to hit him and kick him and throw him down the stairs for leaving her alone for so long, but as soon as she felt the warmth of his body against hers, it all went away and she was happy just to be with him.

He responded to her by pulling her closer to him and laying his chin to rest on the crown of her head. Her hair, still the same jet black that he remembered, smelled of strawberries, just as it always had.

"I've missed you as well." he paused, closing his eyes as he exhaled slowly. "Shou-chan."

xxxx

"She's not that bad, you know," Tokio said, looking up at Saitou who was still gripping her arm fiercely.

"Who isn't?" he asked.

"Shousha. She's a little. . .free spirited and reckless, but she's simple minded. It's easy enough to get along with her."

Saitou glanced down at Tokio with narrowed eyes. He didn't care about anything she had to say. Releasing his grip on her, he pushed her away from him and lit a cigarette.

"I don't care."

Tokio struggled to keep her balance, snatching a fistful of his haori so as not to crash to the ground. She shot him a dirty look and once stable again, covered her mouth and nose with the sleeve of her kimono.

"Smoking in front of a lady is rude," she chastised.

Saitou snorted and flicked some ash from the end of the cigarette. "I don't see any ladies."

"Maybe you should open those narrow eyes of yours and you might be able to see a little bit better."

They walked in silence for a few minutes, Tokio congratulating herself on her wit and quick tongue, and Saitou taking calm, methodical drags from his stick of tobacco. This woman was unbelievable. Who did she think she was, talking to him in such a disrespectful manner?

No, it didn't matter how high she thought she was. In the end, she was no more than a servant. He wouldn't have to deal with her after tonight, so there was no use getting irritated over her.

"Say, Saitou. Are you married?"

Then again, as a Shinsengumi officer, no, as a _man_, he wouldn't tolerate being spoken to so informally.

"Are _you_?" he challenged, "I don't suppose there is a man in your life who has managed to keep you in your place."

"No," Tokio said flatly. "There isn't."

He grunted as if it were no big surprise that no one had been willing to take her as his wife.

"You didn't answer my question," she pressed. "Are you married?"

"No."

She lowered her eyes to her feet. "Oh. That's a shame."

Tossing the remains of his cigarette into a small puddle on the ground, he looked up at the sky. "Is it?"

_Was it?_

"Yes," she said as a matter of factly. "I'm sure the company of a woman would ease certain, ah, _frustrations_, if you would."

Saitou nearly choked. What a filthy woman! He stopped in his tracks, starting at her. Then slowly, a smile crept up his features. She really was something else. He wondered for a moment if she was making an attempt to come on to him, but as she looked behind her and snarled at him when she noticed he had stopped, he decided that wasn't the case.

"Really," he drawled, moving forward to catch up to her. "you feel that being with a woman might make me less, how should I phrase it, _tense_?"

He had his hand on her arm again, and had positioned himself in front of her in a proximity range that was nowhere near appropriate. He could feel her heartbeat. It was quickening. Her muscles were rigid. It seemed that she wasn't as tough as she appeared to be.

Tokio inhaled sharply, eyes wandering down to his large hand, then up to his face where much to her surprise, he was smiling. He was toying with her.

"Yes. Yes I do believe that." Her voice was smaller than before, but still firm.

Saitou leaned forward, putting his face mere inches from hers. "And what exactly would I be doing with such a woman that would be so therapeutic?"

Tokio took a step back. Furrowing her brow, she bit her bottom lip in thought.

"I-I have no idea," she said simply.

Saitou bit back a laugh. She was a small dog with a loud bark, that was for sure. He didn't know exactly why, but he was relieved that she didn't know the exact details of what went on between a man and a woman in married life.

Tokio shifted her weight and looked up at his mocking eyes. So maybe she did talk a little bigger than she walked. There was no need to torture her over it.

When they arrived at the Yamata mansion, Saitou was on his third cigarette and not much had been exchanged between the two of them in terms of words. Tokio looked up at the tall house and let out a small breath of air. Saitou looked around boredly.

"You're home. Are you happy?"

Tokio looked at him then and smiled. "Yes. I am very happy."

And she was.

She turned and entered the house then and Saitou sighed, flicking his cigarette away. What nonsense that trip had been. He moved to head home, but a shrill, piercing yell piqued his curiosity and he pressed himself up against the house, peering through a large door-sized window at the scene inside.

"TOKIOOOO!"

Tokio hurried across the polished marble to the staircase where Shousha's mother stood, screeching her name.

"Here I am, mistress!" she cried, bowing low as she arrived to the spot she had been called to.

The lady of the house crossed her arms disapprovingly. "Where is my daughter?"

"She is spending the night with a friend," Tokio replied, bowing multiple times in apology for having been so late in retuning home.

Yamata wasn't convinced. "Shousha has no friends," she spat.

Tokio nodded. "I only know what I have been told, mistress." Even if she was found out, at least she hadn't been lying.

The elder stared her down for what seemed like an eternity before sweeping up the stairs in a rather foul disposition. Tokio waited until she was out of both sight and earshot before collapsing against the wall.

"You're in trouble now, Shousha," she sighed.

Saitou walked away from the house shaking his head. What a little minx. If she were as good an actress as the display she had just put on, he knew he hadn't seen the last of her. As frustrating as he knew she was going to be, he had to admit that finding small chinks in her armor was enjoyable.

But Tokio would be an issue he would deal with as she came. Shousha was a problem that needed to be addressed the minute he got back. It didn't matter that Okita had been close with her, or that he was all she had in life. Unmarried girls had no business with the Shinsengumi, especially those from corrupt families.

With a scowl set on his face, he entered through the gate of the dojo and headed up the stairs. He fully intended to tell Okita off right that very second, but was intercepted by Harada.

"I wouldn't," the rooster haired man warned, blocking Saitou's pathway. "They're having a moment."

"Out of my way, Harada. She's got no reason to be here."

But Harada had no intention of moving. "Lighten up, Saitou. She's just a girl who misses her friend."

"I said _move_."

"Saitou."

Saitou straightened and turned. Kondo's deep, yet gentle tone hung in the air like a grey cloud about to rain on his festival. His expression was not that of anger, but of sympathy.

"Let them be."

Knowing better than to argue, Saitou relaxed his pose and stepped down. Harada left and Kondo offered a reassuring smile.

"She's not that bad, you know."

Surprised, Saitou raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Shousha," Kondo clarified. "She's a bit free spirited and reckless, but she's simple minded. It's easy enough to get along with her."

"I don't suppose you've ever met her maid, have you Kondo-sama?"

Thinking for a moment, Kondo shook his head. "I don't believe so."

"So then you know her personally."

"I did, once upon a time."

Accepting the fact that he was not going to win this time, he retired to his room. If Kondo was vouching for this girl, there was a good chance she would be appearing more often. Luckily for him, as much of a problem she might pose, he knew she didn't possess the fiery spirit that Tokio did. Maybe she would be quiet. Maybe she and Okita would carry out their little friendship lightly. Maybe she would be just another regular woman leaving no distinct mark on the world.

Maybe.

xxxx


	3. Change

**Author's Note:** As stated in the first chapter, I will be playing around with history. As I've been reviewing the old chapters and comparing them to my new ideas alongside historical facts, I realized that staying historically accurate and fictionally entertaining cannot be done in this fic. With that said, please enjoy your read and stay tuned for more :)

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs

**Changes in Friendship**

_Chapter Three_

Okita and Shousha sat in their comfortable embrace without a care. It was comforting for the both of them just knowing that the other was still there, and still very much theirs. It was odd, Okita thought to himself, how he had never seen her, _really_ seen her before this night. He had left her a girl. She had come to him a woman.

It was his own fault, this he knew. They had spent so much time playing and causing mischief that he had, his whole life, seen her as his playmate. His comrade. His partner in crime. But here she was now, soft and delicate in his arms. He had never noticed the warmth of her back, the slenderness of her shoulders, or-dare he think it, the softness of her breasts.

No. That was no way to think. This was Shousha, his best friend. She was loud, undignified, and cared very little of what others thought of her. She had bruises on her shins, knots in her hair, and a light freckling of dust across her cheeks. She was his friend. His pal.

Still, he couldn't resist inhaling the scent of her hair, just once more.

It was a few moments later that she gently pulled away from him and, looking up to meet his gaze with her deep chocolate (_when did they get so big,_ Okita wondered) eyes, Her lashes had thickened considerably, and replacing the dust on her cheeks, was a very enticing shade of pink.

"Soushi," she wondered, sitting back, "why did you go away?"

Reality hit him then and it weighed on him like the yolk of a prisoner. There was no way around it. She was sitting in front of him asking him _why_, and yet to him, it seemed more like she was pulling him by said yolk to the gallows.

He didn't want to tell her. He didn't want to own up to his disappearance. It wasn't because he was petulant, or afraid that she would become angry or violent (though she might). It was that he realized how pathetic his reasoning had been.

_I didn't want you to get hurt_.

Eighteen year old Okita had engraved that thought into his conscious as he stole away to Edo to complete some more vigorous training. He returned to Kyoto a year later, keeping a low profile before reuniting himself with Kondo, Hijikata and Harada who, though hadn't trained trained with them, still resided at the dojo.

He had considered visiting Shousha on many occasions, but as time went on and the war raged, he felt it best to keep her at a distance. He had come back to protect Kyoto, to protect _her,_ but it seemed that the general public didn't see it that way. It was when the Shinsengumi had been branded as the _Wolves of Mibu_ that Okita knew he could never see her again. She wouldn't understand.

She would hate him.

But now he realized how wrong he had been. She was a strong girl, pure at heart, and sitting here, staring at him in his uniform, she hadn't even flinched. It suddenly occurred to him that he hadn't given her enough credit. She didn't care what uniform her wore. She accepted him as he was, for who he was.

Okita opened his mouth, trying to find the words. He couldn't. Watching the disappointment flash through her eyes, he internally kicked himself.

"How long have you been back?" Shousha asked softly, hoping that he might say, _I've just returned_ or _I haven't had the time to see you_.

Instead, he hung his head. "Four years."

Anger welled up in her eyes and with a threatening glare, she pounded the floor with her fist, causing Okita to jump in surprise.

"You've been in Kyoto for _four years_ and you haven't bothered to send so much as a _note?"_

"You wouldn't understand," he pressed lamely. He felt like a fool.

"I suppose I wouldn't," she spat. "I understand now that you're fighting for our country, but I _never_ would have guessed you couldn't be bothered to support the _people_!"

Her accusation pierced him like a knife and he had nothing to say in his own defense.

"I can't believe you, Soushi," she hissed, standing abruptly. Without looking at him she snapped open the shouji and left him, face burning with shame

Hurrying down the stairs, Shousha headed for the courtyard. She wasn't ready to go home, but she didn't have anywhere else to go. Plopping herself down on the wooden planks of the deck, she shoved her chin into her cupped hands, and stared into the night.

"Oh Soushi. . ." she sighed before allowing the tears that had been pooling in the corner of her eyes to fall silently.

There were lazy footsteps headed her way and when they stopped before her, she tensed.

"I'm sorry little miss, am I intruding?" There was concern laced into the man's slightly thuggish tone and when she shook her head, he invited himself to sit down next to her.

"I like nights like this, you know," he said, leaning back on his palms. "It's quiet, and you can smell autumn in the air."

She didn't reply, instead, emitted a few small sniffles.

"I used to sit out like this with my sister back home," he continued. "we'd try to count the fireflies, but there were too many and we always got confused."

Shousha's sniffled developed into whimpers, whimpers into muffled cried and muffled cries soon became uncontrollable sobs. There was an arm on her shoulder and soon, a finger on her chin, lifting her face to his.

"H-H-Har-Harada- s-s-s-san," she sputtered. She had only seen him a few times when she was younger, but his handsomely punkish face and rooster-like hair were not easily forgotten.

He smiled at her and wiped her ever streaming tears with his large thumbs. "You're Okita's girl, aren't you?"

"No," she replied as harshly as she could as she ran her wrist against her eyes.

Harada wasn't convinced, but he let her off with a smile. "Okita's friend? Could we agree on that?"

She nodded and pulled her knees up, laying her head to rest on them as she stared at him. He thought she might say something, but when she didn't, he leaned over to fall into her line of vision.

"You know, you're famous around here."

She looked at him with puffy eyes. "I am?"

Harada nodded. "Okita talks about you all the time."

Letting her knees down, she crossed her arms and looked away from him. "Don't try to make me feel better. You know as well as I do that he's too important for someone like me."

"It's not true," he protested, scooting closer to her.

She turned, ever so slightly, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"He. . .was always watching out for you."

He had successfully gained her attention and he went on, "every now and then he would send one of us to find you and give a full report of your well being. He has every newspaper you have appeared in over the years, and even has several merchants throughout the city on lookout for him."

He had never realized it, but as Harada verbalized Okita's way of ensuring his friend's safety, it sounded a whole lot like stalking.

"You can be sure," he said gently, taking one of her hands and giving her a kind squeeze, "he cares for you very much."

xxxx

It was morning and Okita still hadn't slept. He had left his room empty for Shousha, not wanting to upset her any further and though it was comfortable enough on any other floor, he had not been graced with the luxury of a nightly slumber.

He had been guilty last night, but he wasn't going to let it eat him up any further. He was going to confront her. He was going to apologize, he was going to-

Reaching the landing of the stairs, Okita froze as he saw about a dozen men crowded around the opened doorway of his room. Most of them were younger, immature, green, and _very_ excited.

"She's so _cute."_

_ "_Would you like to take a walk, miss?"

"Could I accompany you somewhere?"

"No, may _I _accompany you somewhere?"

Suddenly, one of the men stumbled backwards, blood spurting from this nose. A book came to rest at Okita's feet and there was a collective gasp as they noticed his presence.

"Good morning," he said cheerfully, reaching down to pick up the novel Shousha had used so rashly as a weapon.

"Okita-san!" one of the men gasped, "There's a _girl_ in your room!"

"Yes there is," he replied, tucking the book under his arm before tilting his head to the side, "is that so unusual?"

"Yes!" the man answered, but upon seeing the raised brow of his captain, sputtered a correction, "N-no-no sir!"

"It's not strange sir," another piped up, "we just never thought you the type."

Okita let out a small laugh, "The type? What type, might I ask?"

"You know," he answered, shrugging, "the womanizer type. You're a one woman man type."

It would be wrong to say Okita wasn't seasoned in the ways of a woman's affection, but he agreed with his subordinate. He was a one woman type. He had no intentions of toying with the opposite sex, and he certainly didn't want to be finding himself in the midst of several love affairs such as his dear friend Harada. He knew he could never marry and he knew he wouldn't have a family, but he _did _want love, as fleeting as it may turn out to be.

But who would she be? He didn't want a one sided love; he wanted someone to love him for him,. Someone who would laugh with him and walk beside him, not behind him. Someone who would accept and bear his sins with him.

There was only one woman he knew who could be that for him and she was, well she was. . .

"That's woman's got some arm," complained the injured man, clutching his bleeding nose.

"Of course she does," Okita laughed, smiling as he peered into the room where she stood with her arms crossed. "she's my best friend, after all."

That's right. _She was his friend_. Maybe. If he was lucky.

The men slowly dispersed then, realizing that she was out of their reach, and Okita stepped into his room. Shousha let her arms drop to her sides and she averted her eyes awkwardly. All night she replayed what Harada had told her. She believed him, but still couldn't find it in her to accept the fact that Soushi had no intention of actually _seeing_ her again. Now that she was here, how did he feel? His embrace the night before had been so genuine, so loving, that she wanted to convince herself that he was happy to see her. Still, he had gone to great lengths to keep his distance from her.

_Help me dress_.

She wanted to say it. She wanted to have him close again. She longed to feel his touch.

Shousha's thoughts halted abruptly and she eyed her friend who was gathering papers and scrolls together. He hadn't changed one bit physically. He was still short, thin, and considerably youthful for a man in the business of murder. His eyes, just a few shades lighter than her own, shone with cheer and mischief and his lips-no no his _smile_, yes, his smile was just the same. Soft. Gentle.

_Tempting_.

"I'm a fool," she blurted out. She hadn't meant to say it. She was thinking it, yes. But she hadn't actually meant for the thought to escape through her vocal chords.

Okita turned to her and looked at her with curiosity. "A fool?" he echoed.

Thinking quickly, she nodded and headed for the door. "I should have left last night. You are far too busy for my company. Should you ever desire my friendship, you know where to find me."

It was a fine display and she congratulated herself on it, but as her feet crossed the threshold of the door, his hand caught her wrist. She felt his small, yet strong hands burning through her flesh. Never before had his touch elicited such a reaction from her. Part of her wanted to blame the rush of adrenaline on her head, or their separation and how much she had missed him, but she knew better. Soushi hadn't changed at all. _She had_.

"Don't go," he pleaded softly. Her skin was so soft against his own which was so calloused and abused. He could feel her pulse quickening and he was certain she could feel his as well. She looked at him then and his knees went weak. His wall came down. His mask shattered.

"I should have never left you."

She glanced down at his hand, his strong knuckles tanned from training in the sunlight. His grip didn't loosen and she didn't want it to. There was something in the way that he held her this way, something manly. Possessive.

Okita tugged her, ever so slightly, encouraging her to take a step back. He didn't know why, and he was unsure of his own intentions, but he didn't want her to leave the room. He was a one woman man. Why couldn't he love his best friend? Was that so wrong?

"Okita."

A stern voice pulled both of them from their stupor and he released his hold on her wrist, looking up at his vice commander, Hijikata Toshizo. Shousha bowed lowly. Like Harada, she had only seen Hijikata a handful of times. Though she had never been properly introduced to him, he had always looked at her coldly.

"Hijikata-san," Okita said, clearing his throat. "Might I introduce to you Yamata Shousha. She is a dear friend of mine. An injury on the streets last night rendered her unconscious for quite some time."

"It is a pleasure to meet you," Shousha all but whispered as her friend explained her presence.

Hijikata studied her for a moment, then, finding her manners to be adequate, addressed her. "I trust you are well now."

"I am, sir. Very much so," she replied, not daring to make eye contact.

"I am glad," he said simply, before descending the staircase and disappearing around the corner.

Shousha let her tensed body relax then, and she let out a small laugh.

"He always did scare me."

Okita shrugged. "He's not that bad. He's just a traditionalist. He means well most of the time, even if his eyes don't agree with his words."

It was true, Shousha thought as she remembered his terrifying gaze, the stony emeralds that pierced through her and froze her soul. Hijikata's uninviting green eyes, however, were nothing in comparison to the golden oculars of the wolf that stood before her now.

It was now early afternoon and like the two before him, he had achieved very little in terms of sleep. Shousha's yelling had stolen his first attempt. Okita's ridiculous pacing had robbed him of the second, third, and fourth tries. When he _finally_ managed to turn the methodic steps into a calming background noise and he closed his eyes, the image of Takagi Tokio appeared before him.

Needless to say, Saitou Hajime was in a very foul mood.

With the utmost disdain, he stared down at the woman who was blocking his path _just enough_ to irritate him. She wasn't actually in the hall; it was just the tips of her toes, and maybe her nose since she was leaning forward slightly, still not having fixed her posture from her bow to Hijikata, but it was too much.

"Move, girl."

She didn't fight him. She took an unusually large step backwards, stepping on Okita's toes in the process. He let out a small hiss and bit down hard on his bottom lip.

"That _hurt,_ Shousha," he whispered, pulling his foot back to tap it against the tatami as if it would ease the stinging.

If Saitou noticed, he didn't acknowledge it. Instead, he made a point of taking another step towards Shousha. Like a small animal, she recoiled, tripping over her own feet when they wouldn't move fast enough. If not for Okita's palm at the small of her back, she would have found herself on the floor. Hijikata may have been a stoic traditionalist, but she was convinced that _this_ man was out for blood.

"Good afternoon," she managed to squeak out, conjuring up as much grace and elegance as she could muster. It wasn't much.

"Hn."

"It's a lovely day, Saitou-san," Okita noted, smiling as he leaned over his friend's shoulder. "Maybe we should take a walk."

Both Saitou and Shousha turned to the window where a steady drizzle hung like a curtain, disappearing into the fog that crept over the ground like a lazy grey cat.

Okita smiled again, giving Shousha's shoulder a light squeeze. "I'm joking."

Saitou was in no mood for Okita's jokes. Setting his jaw, he shot Shousha a dirty look. He could see it already. The first captain's heart was on his sleeve. Hell, it was on his face. The girl was going to be a distraction and he wasn't going to stand for it. Just as he was about to give her a piece of his mind, one of the wives appeared before them.

"Saitou-san," she addressed him, bowing, her face placid and comfortable. "You have a visitor."

Despite his efforts, the wolf couldn't contain his surprise. He never had visitors. There were few people that knew of his existence outside of the Shinsengumi that would consider him a friend. He doubted any of them would have had the sudden urge to come _visit_.

He nodded in excuse to Okita and made his way down the stairs. The woman led him to a small room used generally for recreation and relaxed conversation. There was a woman sitting there, peaceful, with her head bowed in respect. Saitou stepped into the room and dismissed the wife who left without a fuss, closing the door quietly behind her.

"What business do you have with me, woman?" he demanded, keeping his distance.

She didn't say anything at first. Her head remained bowed and she kept a revered silence. Normally he would have grown irritated with a person's lack of response, but he found the quiet a relief. Silence was sacred these days.

His narrow eyes scanned the room. It was empty. She brought nothing with her. He thought perhaps she brought news. Bad news by the way she was so hesitant to speak. He had no family to speak of and the only friends he had any real emotional attachment to were in the building here with him.

Then he felt it.

It was small at first, a simple tingling at the nape of his neck. It traveled down through his shoulders, into his chest and swirled around in his ribcage before hitting him directly in the gut.

She was smiling.

He couldn't see it, but he felt it and he cursed aloud. She was smiling and it was accompanied by a small catlike chuckle.

"I warned you," she said playfully, still keeping her head down. "You doubted me."

Damn. She had got him.

"You little-" but he was cut off as she raised her head, laughing at him. Taking in his barely masked frustration, Tokio rose to her feet, putting one hand on her hip.

"Did you really think I would let you off with a _stroll_?"

"Don't you have work to do?" he ground out. He wasn't going to let her think she had won. She was just a silly girl. She clearly had too much time on her hands if she could come by and harass him like this. And just why was she harassing him anyway?

She stopped her laughter, though it didn't disappear from her eyes. "I am working. I came to collect Shousha."

"Thank gods," he murmured. It seemed like he wouldn't have to deal with these two after all.

"Though," she sighed, looking outside wistfully, "it is raining awfully hard."

She glanced over at Saitou. He flicked his gaze in her direction.

"No."

"_No?_ I haven't even asked anything yet!" she cried, throwing up her hands.

"It doesn't matter," he said simply, spying a piece of lint on his sleeve and carefully plucking it off. "you were implying that you wanted to stay until the rain let up."

Tokio let out another coy laugh. It was irritating.

"I would never ask such a thing of you," she cooed. "I intended to stay from the start. I don't need your permission to do so."

_Again_ she had him at a loss for words.

"Stay," he repeated dumbly.

"Yes," she replied, furrowing her brow as if she simply couldn't understand why he hadn't processed what she had said. "until the rain lets up."

Right. The rain. Saitou cleared his throat in attempt to clear his head. For a moment he thought she meant _stay. _As in _indefinitely. _

Tokio surveyed him for a minute. She liked him. She wasn't afraid to admit it. He was like no man she had ever met before. He was so cold, so rigid and sure of himself. He was comfortable where he was, in his self appointed superiority to everyone around him. He was arrogant. He was rude.

He was _fun._

The shouji opened then and Harada stood there, fishbone dangling from his mouth. Tokio raised an eyebrow, but much to Saitou's surprise, said nothing.

Harada slapped his hand on Saitou's shoulder and using his comrade as support, leaned forward and winked at Tokio.

"Hey there little miss. Is this guy scarin' you? If you want, I could-" he paused to give her a suggestive grin, "give you a more friendly welcome."

Saitou moved out from under Harada's arm swiftly, sending the bone chewing womanizer crashing to the floor.

"That won't be necessary," he said cooly. "Tokio was just leaving."

"Tokio, eh?" From his half sprawled position on the floor, Harada continued to send flirtatious smiles her way. "Didn't know you were on a first name basis with the ladies, Saitou."

Damn. This was a lose-lose situation. Correcting himself and casually alerting the man on the floor that she was referred to as _Takagi-san_ would not only be a lie, but giving Tokio a small victory. Leaving it the way it was would imply that he had some sort of relationship with the wretch. Dismissing her as no one would give Harada the go ahead to seduce the unsuspecting maid and as much as Saitou held her in the greatest distaste, there was something about that thought that left a very sour taste in his mouth.

Tokio, on the other hand, didn't seem to be affected by his advances at all. She stood there, looking down at his goofy face, grey eyes flashing prettily as she explained that she wasn't at all the type of woman he seemed to think she was. Harada wasn't listening, naturally, but she didn't seem to care.

It was during this time that Okita and Shousha appeared looking rather at ease. Shousha's eyes lit up at the sight of her maid and friend. She moved away from Okita's side and Saitou felt a twinge of annoyance as he noticed him reaching out for her hand as she flounced away.

"I'm so glad you came, Tokio!" Shousha exclaimed, grabbing her friend's hands.

Tokio flashed a smile in return. "I couldn't very well leave you here with all these men, now could I?"

Shousha swept the room with her best attempt at a sultry gaze before dropping her voice down just enough for the men to barely hear her, "You could have if you wanted to."

Tokio let out a snort of laughter and smacked Shousha's shoulder lightly. Neither of them knew the details of intimacy, but they _both _knew that appearing to know caused quite a stir in the minds of young men.

"Since it's raining," Okita announced from the doorway where he still stood, "I have invited the girls to join us for lunch."

Both Harada and Saitou swiveled their heads in his direction. Harada because he was thrilled at the thought of entertaining _two_ young ladies and Saitou because women did _not_ share meals with them.

"Can they cook?" he asked gruffly.

Both Tokio and Shousha opened their mouths and before either of them could make a remark that someone would regret, Okita gave Saitou a playfully reprimanding look.

"Today they are our guests," he said before giving the same look to Harada, "please treat them as such."

Shousha moved to crouch down next to Harada who was _still_ giving lopsided grins in Tokio's direction. Upon seeing this, he made a light fist and held it up. She made a fist of her own and with a soft smile, tapped it against his.

"How ya doin' today missy?" he asked quietly.

"Much better," she replied.

He nodded, standing, then pulled her up gently. "Really I didn't think we'd ever meet Okita's mystery woman. I'm just glad you turned out to be so cute."

Shousha took the compliment with a flush. She had never been called cute twice in the same day. Normally she was 'a disgrace' or 'boyish' or her personal favourite, 'old'. She wasn't old, not by life's standards, but by the marriage market, she might as well have been a prune.

Okita found himself blushing as well. "Harada-san, really. Don't embarrass us so."

Harada shrugged. "Treat her well Okita," he said as he walked past his short comrade. He stopped just long enough to whisper, "or someone else will."

xxxx


	4. Escape

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs

**Changes in Friendship**

_Chapter Four_

Tokio and Shousha knelt opposite the Shinsengumi men with two very different emotions. Tokio had her head held high, casting satisfied glances at Saitou whenever he looked her way. It was more often than he wanted, but he couldn't help it. He could feel her watching him. Her eyes were burning holes through the side of his head whenever he wasn't locked in a staring contest with the girl.

Shousha was uncomfortable. Though she and Okita had seemingly come to terms with his disappearance, she still harbored guilt over acting so childishly. It wasn't in her to apologize, not to him. He would look at her with his kind eyes and laugh it off. He never showed weakness. Sorrow and anger were two emotions that paved a direct path to weakness and if he couldn't be strong for her, how could he be strong for the men he had to lead?

Shousha sighed lightly, averting her eyes as he smiled in her direction. It wasn't like her to act so quietly, but she had doubted him and for that, she was having a hard time forgiving herself.

"So Shousha," It was Harada who broke the silence, not even bothering to swallow all of his food. " 'ow long you known Okita?"

Straightening, she turned to him. "All my life. We grew up together."

Nodding approvingly, he continued, "Now that you found him again, whatcha plannin' on doin with him?"

Shousha hadn't considered that. In her daydreams, life went on as it had before he had left, but he had duties now. Important duties. Duties that held their country's fate in their balance. How much time would he really have just to 'hang out' with her?

"I don't know," she answered slowly, wandering off in thought. "I used to keep him up all night, but now that he has important work to do, perhaps that won't be possible anymore."

Okita spit out his tea.

Hijikata raised an eyebrow.

Saitou stared in disgust.

Harada grinned.

"_All_ night?"

Blinking, she nodded, then took a small bite of rice.

"Pray tell," Saitou drawled, "what exactly was it you were doing _all night_?"

Okita held up his hands and laughed nervously. "It's not like that," he protested.

Shousha, completely clueless to the innuendo she had presented, put a finger to her mouth, digging through some of her memories.

"It varied," she said after some thought.

There were several snickers around the room and Okita's face began to warm. She had no idea the fuel she was feeding to the perverse fire that would soon engulf the entire room. Harada punched Okita in the arm in a manly congratulatory sort of way.

"Though we had to be very quiet. I can only imagine what my parents would have done if they had found us. Soushi had snuck through my window and everything. It was all very improper."

Okita covered his face with his hands.

Hijikata looked as if he were to put a stop to the discussion but Harada was leaning forward intently, eagerly awaiting the next nugget of lewd teenage activity. "What was so improper?" he pressed, hoping for a slice of _something_ to have over Okita.

Shousha smiled and lowered her voice as if even she were flustered by her actions. "I couldn't help myself around him."

Nodding quickly, the spiky haired man silently begged for more. _Yes. This is it._

She sighed loudly, unsure if she wanted to disclose such a statement before so many men. Finally, she looked Harada directly in the eye.

"We talked for _hours._"

And just like that, the mood rushed from the room.

"Talked," Harada echoed. Hijikata relaxed and allowed for the conversation to continue.

"Oh yes," she swooned, "until the sun came up. We talked about everything. It was a wonder any of us ever got any sleep."

Settling back into a comfortable position, he gave her a lazy half-smile. "Well ain't that romantic."

"Ridiculous," Saitou spat. "No one cares about your frivolous adolescent fantasy world."

Tokio slid him a sly smile. "You sound jealous."

Furiously, he whipped his attention in her direction. "Jealous? Why would I ever be jealous of a couple of _kids_?"

She shrugged. "Why would you get so upset over a couple of kids?"

"Aw come on, buddy," Harada coaxed, "lighten up. It was a cute story. It's nice to hear about these things, yanno?"

Saitou bristled at being called 'buddy' and began to eat silently, his aura poisonous, his eyes focused with a deadly calm. He wouldn't give Harada the satisfaction of seeing him unnerved.

"Not to be insensitive Saitou-san," Okita began quietly, peering over at his friend, eyes brimming with concern, "but when was the last time you were with a woman?"

Saitou slammed down his rice bowl. _That is enough._

"That is enough."

All attention turned to Hijikata who sat at the head of the room, looking at all of them with a cool and dominating air.

"This is not the type of conversation to be had in the presence of a pair of maidens," he said.

While Saitou was more than happy to drop the subject and Okita completely indifferent, Harada wasn't going to let it go without a struggle.

"They can handle it, Toshi. Trust me."

Hijikata's eye twitched. "Please. Enlighten me."

"Well that one," he continued, holding up a finger at Tokio, "she's feisty. I reckon there's worse spewin' from her mouth than anything we'll be sayin' in here."

Tokio sat, beaming.

"And _that_ one," he moved his arm slightly to the left so his words were directed at Shousha, "doesn't have a clue as to what we're talking about."

"That's not true!" Shousha cried, knocking her chopsticks to the ground with her sleeve as she brandished her arm in protest.

Harada watched her amusedly as she fumbled for the lost utensils.

"Are you married, missy?"

"No I am not _married_," she retorted before adding quietly, "not yet."

"Then how is it that you are so knowledgeable of the fantastical world of intimacy?"

Okita wanted to leave the room. Harada was going to call her bluff and it would not end well. This was so typical of her, running her mouth and getting in over her head. Normally it was simple squabble with cocky rich young men who were her equals in mouth running, but this involved him and both of their reputations, for what they were worth, and he wasn't sure he wanted to stay and watch them crumble.

"Because I read," she stated simply. "I read all sorts of romantic stories."

It was true, if one considered fairy tales to be 'all sorts'.

She was too funny, really, and Harada was enjoying himself. She was holding her own thusfar, but he knew it was only a matter of minutes before she admitted defeat.

"So you've never had any affections from a young man, then?" he mused.

"I have." Her answer came so quickly, and with such resolve that it surprised even Tokio. Okita's eyes widened and even he was unsure as to whether or not it was true. (It wasn't.)

"Alright then. Let's see how much you've been taught."

Shousha leveled her gaze in a playful challenge. Even she knew she was about to lose. He had called her out, she had put up a good struggle, and she would go down fighting. Fighting or surrendering didn't matter, however. The fact of the matter was that she had lost. In front of an audience no doubt.

"Please," she invited, "issue your challenge."

Setting his chopsticks over his rice bowl, Harada crossed his arms and his face became solemn.

"Kiss Okita."

Instantly the entire room erupted.

"This is ridiculous!" Saitou shouted again.

"In _public_?" came the hurried whispers of some men, while others hooted in encouragement.

"Harada-san, really," Okita was saying, red faced and feeling slightly dizzy. "Please do not continue with this humiliation."

Shousha had nothing to say. The nail was in the coffin. She had been had. She was done. Dead. Gone. Finished.

There was no way she could comply with his request. Firstly, because Soushi was her best friend with whom (might she add) she had just been reunited after five years. Secondly, as much as she enjoyed rebellious activity, such a public display of affection was beyond even her moral standings. Thirdly, and possibly the most important of all, she had never kissed anyone before. She didn't know how.

All of the commotion was brought to a halt, a sudden and eerie silence, when Kondo Isami walked into the room. Even Harada lost his mischievous facade. Shousha's face began to burn with embarrassment and shame under his gaze. She knew that he was the leader here. She knew that he was powerful, but she wasn't fearful. The only thing she was afraid of was his disappointment.

"I believe," he began softly, watching as all his men straightened and rightened themselves from their unruly behavior, "that we should move to a more polite topic of discussion. To speak of such vulgarities are one thing, but to put such a hard request on an _unmarried woman_ will not be tolerated."

His emphasis on her being unmarried made Okita regret the situation even more. This was all so inappropriate. Of the men, only Hijikata noticed his leader's quick wink at Shousha. He was _rescuing _her.

"Thank you, Kondo-san. er, sama," she said quietly, bowing perfectly as she had that morning to a more stony man. It was well rehearsed and for the few seconds she performed it, every man in that room was convinced she would make a lovely wife.

Every man except for Saitou, naturally, who was shooting daggers out his eyes at the woman across from him making faces at him from behind her hands.

Kondo bowed lightly in reply. "You have grown to be a very beautiful young woman, Shousha. I pray for your happiness."

"Thank you," she said, raising herself to a more upright kneeling position.

He looked down at her and rubbed his chin. "Though perhaps you should consider your words more carefully next time."

She lowered her head again. He wasn't reprimanding or warning her, he was looking out for her as he often had. This was something about Kondo that she always admired. As strong as he was and as many skills he possessed as a swordsman, it was always his words that made him memorable. Ever since she was a child, he had known what to say, how to say it, and when. It was amazing.

When he had nothing further to say, she raised her head and gave him a devilish grin, "Or perhaps I should consider my opponent."

Surprised, but not offended, Kondo turned to Okita who, without realizing it, was beaming with pride.

"She's got a quick tongue, Okita. Why did it take you so long to return her to us?"

"I don't know, Kondo-sama," he said innocently rubbing the back of his head, "look at all the commotion she has caused on the first day. I don't imagine we'd get much done if this were a daily occurrence."

Kondo let his eyes linger on the two women for a moment before speaking, switching his gaze between Okita and Shousha as he did so.

"Maybe we need a little bit of laughter in this place. It's been too long since the old days."

Both friends knew exactly what he had meant. Both friends felt their heartbeat quicken. Both friends couldn't help but feel it was fate.

Okita stood to leave and in doing so, offered his hand to Shousha. They had gotten off to a bumpy start, but Kondo had seen to it that they smooth things over. To everyone else in the room, their leader's words had been an excuse for the drama that had just taken place, a go ahead for them to enjoy themselves, if only for a few minutes. But they knew better. The words hadn't been an excuse, but aninvitation.

Shousha was going to stay.

xxxx

A sharp slap echoed throughout the Yamata house. The master of the house, Yamata Mori stood straight, tall, and proper. His wife Kanako sat rigid and furious behind him. Shousha stood proudly before her father, cheek stinging but refusing to let any tears fall. She would cry later.

_I'm leaving._

The words had not gone over well with her parents. Her normally calm and passive father had wasted no time in displaying his disapproval.

"How dare you," he hissed, "Are you that ungrateful?"

"I'm not ungrateful, father," she replied, squaring her shoulders, "You and mother both have expressed your desire to be rid of me and I am honoring your request."

He slapped her again.

"I will not allow it!" he bellowed.

Kanako steeled her gaze on her daughter. "Do you imagine yourself so capable, my dear? Do you believe that you will survive on your own, without a penny to your name?"

Shousha bit down on her lip to calm her desire to cry. Her father's hand was large and strong, his movements quick and painful. She had expected this, but it hurt just as well.

"I am not asking your permission," she said quietly. "I am leaving. Do not seek me out."

She turned on her heel, but stopped her steps when her mother had lowered her voice to a soft and deadly whisper.

"Why?"

"It is something I must do."

Mori stood where he was, rage seeping out through every pore. He would let her go, his monster daughter. She had brought enough shame to him with her constant disobedience that he saw no real reason to keep her. When the time was right, he would fetch her and she would rue the day she had ever spoken out against him.

He addressed her coldly before she could leave. "When the world is cruel to you, remember that you have no home."

She didn't acknowledge his threat. "I will be taking my maid," she said simply before heading up the stairs for what she fully intended to be the last time.

Once in her bedroom, she clutched her cheek and allowed tears to fall. It had been nearly a week since she had found Soushi and though they had spent a significant amount of time planning how she could come to stay with him, she had surprised herself by pulling it off.

Tokio entered then and with a congratulatory smile, handed her friend a cold cloth.

"It's worth it, isn't it?" she said grinning. "You're free now."

It would be worth it. For all that she had done to rebel against her parents, she was still at their mercy. They fed her, they clothed her, and their status in society, their constant tug of war between the Shogunate and the patriots had ensured her safety. It was something they had always held over her.

_You're safe with us_.

_Be grateful for your position._

_ We are all you have._

And then there was marriage. Nothing she could do would change the fact that her parents owned her and would eventually have the final say in terms of her groom. She could fall madly in love with the perfect man, but he was not who her parents had chosen, and she wouldn't have any power against them. In the end, she would be alone again.

Not this time. She would be free now and though she had no money, no status, and no name to speak of, she could make her own decisions without fearing the consequences.

Okita appeared in her window then, and his excited expression dropped to one of concern as he noticed the side of her face that was beginning to turn an uninviting shade of burgundy.

"Shou-chan! Your face!" he cried in a whisper, not wanting to stir the house anymore than she already had. Anger swelled up in him, but rolled away like the tide as she laughed at him.

"It doesn't hurt anymore," she told him, "but it was worth it."

She had lied to him, he knew it, but he didn't mind. She had always been that way, pretending her wounds didn't hurt, then secretly nursing herself back to health in the privacy of her own room. Of all the things that had or hadn't changed over the years, he was glad that was among them.

"Are you ready?" he asked her gently, holding out a calloused hand. They had done this plenty of times, escaping out her window, but this excited him more than any of their silly adolescent adventures. Tonight, they were unstoppable.

Shousha turned to Tokio who nudged her forward. "Go. I'll follow."

Grinning, she took his hand, allowing him to hold her as one might a bride. Tokio placed a small bag of belongings in Shousha's lap and with a smile, Okita hopped down from the window and into the night.

"This is so exciting, Soushi!" Shousha whispered as they crept along the walls of her house. It would only be a matter of minutes before Tokio emerged from the servants' entrance and the two of them made their new home with the Shinsengumi men and their wives.

He stopped suddenly, making a quick reach for her hand and pulling her against him as he flattened himself against the wall. He knew just as well as anyone how unpredictable her parents were. They might have let her walk out on them, but he wouldn't put it past them to have guards set on them as they made their escape. There was no doubt in his mind that he could have taken each and every one on his own, but Shousha was coming to live with him so he could better protect her. He wouldn't kill before her eyes.

"Sshh," he whispered against her cheek, hearing faint, yet determined footsteps. They weren't Tokio's; they were far too masculine.

Feeling his breath against her skin, Shousha's stomach did a flip, then shot up to her throat. One of his hands had its fingers entwined in her own, and the other on the hilt of his wakizashi, arm crossed over her midsection protectively. She ran through all of her memories as best she could, but none of them showed her anything like this. Never had they been so close for such a long period of time.

"Ta-chan," she breathed, allowing the nickname to linger on her lips for a second.

He tensed and squeezed her hand in reply. There was something in her voice that he didn't recognize. Something she hadn't even been aware of. It sent tingles up his spine and into his toes.

The footsteps subsided and he allowed his hand to drop from the hilt of his sword. The closeness to Shousha was starting to make him dizzy so, careful not to let go of her hand, he moved further along the wall of the house. They were almost at the servants' entrance. They just had to pass the drawing room and-

They both froze.

xxxx

A strong hand on the back of her kimono ripped Tokio from all of her excited thoughts. She let out a scream, but when she was thrown to the floor and looked up at her attacker, her mouth closed instantly.

Kanako stood above her, all grace and poise having vanished with her daughter.

"M-m-mistress!" Tokio sputtered in genuine surprise and horror. How much had she seen?

"Get up!" Kanako spat.

Tokio did as she was told, despite her desire to point out that it was her mistress that had put her on the ground in the first place. Her feet weren't upright for a second before she was pulled again, this time out of the room and down the stairs.

Tokio didn't fight. There were plenty of people whom she had no problem standing her ground with, but both Mori and Kanako were out of her league. It wasn't that she wouldn't be able to shock them into silence, or send them running in fear for their reputation, but they had a distinct power over her, much as they had with Shousha.

It was a power Tokio couldn't run from.

"I _know_ you have something to do with this," Kanako hissed as she pushed the tiny maid into the drawing room and slammed the giant doors behind her. They locked with a distinct 'click'.

"I don't know anything, mistress," she protested, "I promise!"

Eyes flashing, the older woman pointed a threatening finger at her. "You are the only person on this earth that Shousha has a consistent relationship with. Don't you dare tell me she never even gave you so much as a clue."

_Think Tokio. Think_. What could she say? What was there to say? Everyone in the house knew they were friends, as much as everyone disapproved. She couldn't deny it.

"She- She did talk about leaving," she stalled, "but I never knew she was serious."

Calming, Kanako took a step back. "See? That wasn't so hard. Now, tell me where she went."

"She didn't say."

"I find that hard to believe," Shousha's mother scoffed. "You and I both know how many ludicrous _dreams_ that girl has."

"Honest, ma'am she never told me."

"Lying is not becoming, Tokio."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Surely your father would be disappointed should he not have the funds to-"

"EDO!" Tokio screamed.

Kanako smiled.

Taking a long breath, Tokio continued. "She went to Edo to find her friend Soushi. She couldn't bear being away from him any longer."

Then, something strange happened. Kanako began to laugh. It was terrifying, how quickly the woman's emotions changed and Tokio soon found herself gripping the arm of a chair lest she need to hide behind something.

"What a fool," the old woman said, wiping her eyes as tears began to fall. Her laughter continued to ring out throughout the giant room and Tokio shifted her gaze uneasily.

"Pardon?"

It took Kanako some time to recover, but when she did, she stared at the maid with a crazed smile.

"Don't you see? It's so ironic."

"I. . .I'm not sure I understand, mistress," Tokio whispered carefully.

"Soushi isn't in Edo. He's here in Kyoto and he has been for four years." Kanako started to chuckle again. "He has been right under her foolish little nose this whole time."

Tokio smiled as well. It seemed they had bested her after all.

xxxx

Shousha picked at her bottom lip as she often did when she was nervous or contemplating something. The scene that was playing out in the house before them was not at all a part of their plan and there was no way around it.

"What do we do?" Okita whispered, wincing as Kanako gave Tokio a verbal beating.

"There's nothing we can do," Shousha mused. "But it'll be alright. Tokio's tough. She'll be able to hang on for a little while."

Okita looked doubtful. "I can kidnap her," he suggested, but Shousha shook her head.

"We can't do anything that might turn out to reflect poorly on her. My parents pay well and Tokio's family is in great need. I am not willing to risk her family's livelihood and neither is she."

Nodding in agreement, he stole away from the house, hand still gripping hers.

"When the time comes, she will join us," he assured her as he broke out into an excited sprint. "Until then, we shall have to come up with many excuses for her to see us."

As they ran down the blackened streets, Shousha finally felt it. She felt the wind against her face and the roughness of Okita's hands. She felt the moisture of every puddle they hopped over and how tragically uneven the roads were in some spots. She felt happy, she felt exhilarated. She was nervous, she was ambitious.

_She was free_.

xxxx


	5. Surprise

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs

**Changes in Friendship**

_Chapter Five  
_

Shousha stood in Okita's room and looked around curiously. There was only one futon laid out and she wasn't about to hop into bed with her best friend. They were no longer children, after all.

"Where will you sleep?" she wondered aloud. On their way up the stairs, he had explained to her the tight quarters they would have. It was significantly different from her luxurious lifestyle that she had just left, but she was so caught up in her rush of excitement she hadn't cared.

He looked at her thoughtfully, then nodded towards the futon. "With you of course." Then, noting her horrified expression, broke into a playful grin. "I'm kidding. "

She gave him a doubtful look, "Are you?"

He sighed, bringing his arms up behind his head and leaning back on his heels, "That all depends," he said, looking up towards the ceiling, trying to bite back the wicked smile threatening to break through.

Shousha waited for a few seconds, wondering if he would go on. When he didn't she took a step forward and bit her lip.

"Depends on what?" she asked, barely above a whisper.

He brought his head down to look at her directly, an incredibly cheeky twinkle in his eye, and his lips upturned ever so slightly.

"Do you want me to be kidding?"

An overwhelming sensation hit Shousha then and she stepped back to regain her equilibrium as her belly became heavy and her heart light. Her head was rushing and when she let herself fall to the floor, he was there to catch her as he always had been.

"You've changed, Shou-chan," he said softly, stroking her hair, as she lay there in a gentle daze, her head in his lap. They had rested this way many a time growing up, but here and now, they both knew it was more than just friendly comfort.

"Have I?" she wondered.

Okita smiled down at her gently. "Not so much, really," he admitted, "but you're different."

"Well so are you!" she huffed, reaching up to punch his shoulder. She missed, but it didn't matter. He caught her wrist and gave her a light high five.

"Why aren't you married?" he teased, changing the subject, "your parents can't find anyone to chain you down?"

Shousha rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "It's not that. If I married now, and my husband died, don't you know what would happen?"

"You...'d be a widow?"

"Widow indeed," she said, "a very wealthy widow at that. My husband would inherit my parents' fortune and once he's gone..."

"Oh," said Okita, "that money would be yours."

Shousha snapped her fingers. "Exactly. My parents are treading on dangerous grounds what with their corrupt allegiances, but they aren't completely stupid."

Laughing heartily, Okita shifted his weight, moving from kneeling, to sitting cross legged. When he let her settle back into his lap, he tugged on her hair.

"I can only picture what you would do with a giant fortune like that all to yourself."

"I would _ruin_ them," she squealed happily before dismissing the fantasy, "and they know it. They wouldn't take that chance. They are waiting until the war is over."

They quieted after that, both of them considering her married. Okita found that the idea of seeing her with a husband rather distasteful. When she married, whether it be of her choosing or someone else's, they wouldn't be able to do this anymore. Their friendship would become restricted to polite conversation, stolen glances over tea, and short, proper strolls in the gardens.

Shousha's thoughts ran parallel to his. Though she fully intended to fall in love, madly, wildly, _dangerously_ in love, she knew that even as happy as she would be with her new mad, wild, and dangerous husband, that she would have to face life and become a real adult. She wouldn't be able to run through the street holding Shoushi's hand, or lay in his lap, or even fall asleep to the gentle sound of his voice as he made up adventure stories in the night. Her life would, essentially, be over.

How then, she wondered, could she be so in love with this mystery husband, if she wanted to keep him at bay in order to stay by Soushi's side?

What would become of them, they both wondered. After the war, what would they do?

"I'll miss Tokio greatly," Shousha sighed, not wanting to think anymore on the topic of marriage in competition with her friendship.

"Are you having second thoughts?"

"Do you think she is beautiful?"

The question caught Okita off guard and he fumbled for his words. His friend laughed at his dismay and smiled up at the ceiling.

"I think she is the most beautiful woman in the world," she sighed.

"That is very kind of you to say about your friend," he replied, running a finger over one of her delicately arched eyebrows.

She sat up then. "I'm not saying it to be kind, Soushi. I'm saying it because it's true! I often find myself jealous."

Okita studied her carefully. Shousha needn't feel jealous. She was pretty in her own way. Her hair was as black as night and her eyes the deepest chocolate. Maybe her skin was a little more tanned than society preferred, and her body was a bit boyish. She might have only stood out in a crowd of commoners, but he had always known no one could hold a candle to the way her entire face lit up with even the slightest of her smiles.

"I think _you_ are the most beautiful woman in the world," he blurted out before he could think better of it.

Shousha's face exploded into a violent blush and he turned away from her to hide his own reddening cheeks.

"Wh-what I meant was," he amended, "was-is that you're beautiful. To me. I think- I think you have no reason to be jealous."

"Oh," she said softly, not entirely sure what she was supposed to say. "Thank you."

The moon was high in the sky now and it wouldn't be long before the sun rose to join it. Pushing down his embarrassment, he stood.

"I must go now, Shou-chan," he said quietly.

She didn't reply, but he understood.

"I'll be back before dawn."

Her attention snapped to him. She hadn't realized he was going _out_. Suddenly the safe feeling shattered and she remembered the man her best friend had become. He was going out to take care of his duties, to protect the city. She had never considered the danger he put himself in until now.

"Please be careful," she begged.

Picking up his swords, Okita closed his eyes, only for a second. No one had ever worried for his safety before. It had always been assumed that he would do what he had to, then return home. There had never been any doubt. There wasn't room for it.

"I'm very good, Shousha," he reminded her. "You've seen me fight."

_ You've never seen me kill_. The thought was fleeting and he didn't voice it. He didn't have to.

"Please, just do me a favor Soushi," she requested as she slid into bed, pulling the covers up over her shoulders and holding them there as if her covering herself would protect her from him getting hurt.

"Anything," he said. And he meant it. _Anything_.

"Wake me when you return."

He flashed her a smile. "You worry too much."

"Promise me!" she cried.

Opening the shouji silently, he looked back at her. "I promise."

With that, he disappeared into the night.

xxxx

Tokio trudged up the narrow stairwell that led to the servants' quarters. It was half past two, or at least that's what she thought she had read on the clock. She couldn't be sure. She felt as if she had worked three days without sleep. Ever since Shousha had made her rather dramatic escape, Kanako had worked Tokio extra hard as if to say, _Just try and run away._

Tokio, however, had no intention of running away. She needed this job. Her father was unable to work due to an old injury and her elder brother had accrued many debts in the family name. Her young sister was suffering greatly because of this. She had been granted a chance to save them. She wasn't about to abandon them.

Still, she couldn't help but sometimes wish she had managed to leave with Shousha. At least then it would have been proper and Kanako would have no grounds to tarnish her reputation. Okita had assured her that by helping out at the dojo, she would be well compensated and her family would be in no danger.

Flopping down onto her rickety western style bed, Tokio let her face fall into her pillow.

"This sucks," she mumbled.

Not only was her workload three times as much, but now she was alone. None of the other servants would acknowledge her and she highly doubted that Mori was about to strike up conversation with her.

Then it occurred to her. She couldn't run away permanently, but she certainly could sneak out for an hour or two. She was lucky that the Yamata house was one full of sound sleepers. No one would be up for at least another three hours and the master and the mistress rose much later than that.

Adrenaline began to course through her veins and she sat up, no longer tired. She could leave now and no one would ever have to know. She would sacrifice sleep, just for tonight. Silently slipping on an overcoat, she slipped out of the house and into the night.

The night was chilly, but her excitement warmed her. There was no movement on the street that the Yamata house was on, but she wasn't spooked. Memories came flooding into her mind and she breathed in the night air. She had grown up here in the dark. She had known very little of sunny days and legitimate work until Shousha had entered her life.

She demonstrated a few quick punches into the air and let herself laugh about it. Her father would be proud of the woman she was becoming. She was a still little rough around the edges, but now she had the experience to become a real lady. She knew of etiquette and manners; of wit and charm.

Examining her fists, Tokio journeyed through the blackness. She had said goodbye to her old self five years ago. She was no thief, no troublemaker, but the thought of essentially breaking into a house full of men sent a wave of nostalgic excitement through her veins. She hadn't had a real thrill in far too long.

She rounded a corner, not paying much attention, having assumed to be the only person on the road that wasn't laying in the gutter unconscious. Her thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice that made her jump.

"Takagi-san! What on Earth are you doing out so late?"

Okita's worried expression and surprised eyes caused her to bow in apology. When she straightened, she took count of the men behind him. Harada was with him (she accepted his favorable smile graciously) as well as several lower ranking men whose names Tokio did not know.

"I didn't mean to startle you, Okita-san," she said truthfully, "but I have a few hours to myself and I would like very much to visit Shousha."

Still having a difficult time comprehending the hour of the morning, he continued to stare. "At this hour?"

"Well her mother has been working me particularly hard since she left," Tokio went on, "so whatever free time I had prior to the event has disappeared completely."

Okita nodded slowly. Really it had to be close to three in the morning.

Flashing the men a polite smile, Tokio waved to Harada and ducked out of their way. "I'll be leaving now; perhaps I shall see you at market someday."

She left them then, hopeful that she would be successful in her journey. When she came to the dojo where her friend resided, however, her courage wavered.

The gate was closed.

Pursing her lips for no more than a second, she went to work pulling up the hem of her kimono and stuffing it into her obi. Tossing her geta over the gate and into the courtyard, she took a deep breath. She had done this hundreds of times as a child and she prayed she still possessed a street urchin's talent for scaling walls.

Taking a step back, she readied herself, prepared for serious injury, humiliation, and potential incarceration if she failed. Launching herself with her right foot, she ran at the wall, jumping at it three quarters of the way towards it. She caught the ledge (just barely) and using the balls of her feet, pushed herself up, and over.

Her landing was hard and painful, not having remembered how to properly protect herself now that her body had fully grown. Still, despite the bumps and bruises she might have in the morning, she had done it. She was in.

Looking up at the giant house within the dojo, she remembered what she had been told the day she had came to collect Shousha. Second floor, third room on the right in the West wing. The window faced North.

With full determination, Tokio started towards the house. It would be easy to climb as soon as she found the right window. _West wing, West wing._Suddenly Tokio stopped, allowing the building to loom overhead. The West wing might have been easy enough to find provided one knew which direction West was.

Tokio had never been concerned about not having had a proper education until now.

She opened up her hands and looked at them. West was..._left. _

_ So... one, two, three-There!_

But was West a relative direction or did the earth have an absolute? If she were facing one way and the house were facing another, would they have two different Wests? And who decided where West was anyway?

Slightly irritated, she raised a fist to the sky, shaking it at the moon. But all was not lost! There were the stars. The evening star, Shousha had always told her, was the brightest star in the sky. It was there to direct, to show where North was, which would help Tokio greatly, provided direction _wasn't_ relative.

She scanned the sky quickly and upon locating it, gave a small clap. Sticking out her arms to gauge where West was once more, she headed towards that side of the house, keeping her eye on the North Star.

Then it disappeared.

Tokio stopped, searching the sky frantically before locating it again, but this time, it was in a different direction. She played this game with the twinkling specks for several minutes before giving up on them completely.

It seemed all was lost after all.

"They all look the same to me," she grumbled, marching towards the house, "what a stupid idea, taking directions from the stars."

She had decided to guess. There were only so many third windows on the second floor, (as they were seven across) so though there may be some trial and error, it was a whole lot easier than trying to make sense out of those pesky stars.

Pulling herself up onto the roof of the first floor, Tokio groaned in frustration. Was it the third window from the outside or the inside? She hadn't come all this way to be wandering around on a rooftop, so she resolved to peek into every single room until she found her friend.

In the first window was a man and his wife, sleeping soundly. The second was empty as was the third. When she peeked into the fourth window, a cloud came over the moon and she was unable to see its contents. It was a candidate for a third window and Tokio wasn't about to just pass it by.

Sliding up onto the sill of the window, she leaned in slightly, hoping that she might see whoever was inside. It was too dark and no matter how close she got, it wouldn't make her vision any better. Still, she needed to know. She inched closer, bringing her feet up onto the wood enabling her to crouch and crane her neck into the black.

Then she saw it. Faintly. The outline of a sleeping person. One sleeping person. Heart racing, she did a tiny fist pump of excitement.

"Shousha!" she whispered, calling out into the room. When there was no response, she tried again.

"Shousha!"

She was met with silence.

Deciding perhaps it was best she take a much closer look, Tokio stood on the sill, reaching blindly for the vertical part of the window's frame. Depth perception skewed from the night, she found herself groping at nothing. This caused a slight hitch in her breathing as the thought of falling to the ground flashed through her mind and in her panicked haste to catch herself, she tumbled off the window and into the bedroom.

She didn't even have time to hit the floor.

Within an instant, hands were at her throat and she was pinned up against the wall. Fearing for her life, she kicked, aiming low. A low grunt was emitted from her attacker noting that she had hit somewhere in his abdomen.

The moon came out from behind the clouds then and she was dropped immediately.

Saitou stood above her, no longer aggressive, but startled. He took a step back as he quickly flicked his wrists as if to rid them of the pain the might have inflicted upon her. His surprise was quickly replaced with annoyance.

"Where have you been?" he spat.

Except, that wasn't what he had meant to say. _What are you doing here _was what was supposed to have been verbalized. His inquiry of her whereabouts had meant to be a private, fleeting thought.

"Where have I been?" she repeated, staring up at him in disbelief. "I've been working. Where else would I be?"

He rubbed his temples. Really, he didn't need this.

"That's not what I meant to say."

Tokio stood, rubbing her neck and yawning. Maybe she wasn't cut out for late night adventures after all.

"You must have meant it at least a little if you said it," she pointed out, trying to stifle another yawn.

"I could have killed you," he hissed, changing the subject. It was true that he had been wondering where she had been. Okita had mentioned there being a delay in her arrival and where Saitou had pretended not to care, he couldn't help but wonder what the feisty little thing had in store for him next. He certainly hadn't expected her to come climbing through his window in the wee hours of the morn.

"You wouldn't have killed me," she said, dismissing his poor act of concern with her flapping hand. "My skin is too soft. You would have realized it sooner or later."

"Don't be so naive as to think that all women are so innocently climbin-" he paused, fully realizing the situation at hand, and narrowed his eyes at the pretty girl looking around his room, observing and taking in aspects of his personal life.

"What _are_ you doing?"

Tokio allowed her gaze to drift lazily over to the man she enjoyed so much, though she was much too tired to play. "Oh, me? I came to visit Shousha."

"A little, _late_, don't you think?" he teased with a wolfish smile.

"Yes," she sighed in response. "I realize that now."

Saitou's grin faded. She wasn't herself tonight. She was. . .worn.

"I'll walk you out," he said gruffly, grabbing her arm, "the little bitch is asleep."

Much to his disappointment, she didn't argue. It wasn't submission; he knew better than to assume she had accepted defeat. She was tired, much too tired to even think straight (really, climbing into a man's bedroom?), never mind come up with lines witty enough to entertain him.

At the gate, she slipped on her shoes, even though she very much wanted to walk barefoot, and turned to face him. He pushed her out the door.

"Don't get yourself killed on your way home."

With what little energy she managed to conjure, Tokio snatched one of the spidery strands of hair that fell over the front of his face. She pulled until his face was level with hers and though she could feel him bristle, she knew she had the upper hand.

Fist full of his hair, she looked him directly in the eye and grinned. "Don't go soft on me, Saitou."

She let him go then, and spun to leave, but his voice stopped her.

"Hajime."

Twisting her head to look back at him, she raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"My name," he said. "is Hajime."

It was then that she knew she had won. He was admitting defeat, even if he hadn't, and wouldn't, say it outright. He would welcome her challenges with open arms and she would continue to issue them. He might fight and struggle against her, but in the end they both knew it was futile.

He had accepted her in his own abrasive, and slightly offensive way. He had accepted her into his life, and even though she didn't know it at the moment, this acceptance was the answer to all of Tokio's prayers.

xxxx


	6. Burden

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs

**Changes in Friendship**

_Chapter Six_

"Soushi, catch it!"

"Come on Okita! Get it, get it, get it!"

Okita danced around the courtyard, arms up to the sky, trying to gauge where the ball would land. The sun shone into his eyes and he squinted, trying to follow the tiny white orb as it disappeared into the light. When he finally did manage to see it again, it was much further from where he had anticipated and he dove to intercept its connection with the ground.

When the dust settled, he held up his fist victoriously, grinning.

"You're out," Hijikata noted to Harada who had been just shy of touching the bag of wheat they were using as a marker.

He shrugged nonchalantly and stuffed his hands into his pocket, walking off the playing field.

Saitou stood on the side of the game next to Shousha, smoking a cigarette and not having any real intention of joining in.

"What on earth is this ridiculous game?"

"It's called baseball," Shousha told him, demonstrating a series of encouraging hops as Okita once again stood beneath a fly ball. "We learned it from some boys when we were kids. It's American."

"American, huh? If this is what they do for entertainment they can't be all that intelligent."

Shousha ignored his comment and let out a laugh as Kondo struck out.

"Better luck next time, Kondo-sama!"

He turned to her and let out a bashful grin. Truthfully, not many of them were any good at this game. Harada was relatively good at bat, but tended to put a little _too_ much effort forward (Shousha had stopped counting the number of windows she would be fixing). On the rare occasion that Okita managed to hit the ball, he never seemed to actually _tag _the base, giving the opposing team quite an easy time of doing it for him, live ball in hand. Hijikata made a point of being walked every time and Kondo, well, he was really only playing for the moral support of his men.

Still, as clumsy as everyone was, it was refreshing. The air in the dojo was so stuffy, so serious, that even Hijikata, placid and stoic as he was, felt light. He didn't show it of course, but as he played umpire, he was happy. This is what they were fighting for. Okita's students had been invited to play with them as well and seeing the smiles on the faces of the young men, all varying in age, Hijikata felt hopeful that Kyoto could become like this once again.

It was their duty.

"Saitou-san! Come play!"

Saitou ignored Okita's request and leaned up against the wall.

"Why don't you play?" Shousha asked him. "It's fun."

He looked down at her. She looked so pleased with herself, having suggested they take an hour for something fun. Did she really think to revolutionize the hearts of these men? Did she really believe she could ease the darkness within; erase the things they had seen? The things they had _done? _

She was too romantic. Her ideology would get someone killed if she kept it up.

"You think you can change us?"

She looked up, feeling of doubt beginning to rise within her. "I. . .I thought it would be nice to forget about everything for a little bit."

"What do you know?" he scoffed, extinguishing his smoke with a trail of ash along the wall.

"I know that laughter is the best medicine," she said quietly.

Saitou looked towards the makeshift playing field. "Medicine is useless against an incurable disease."

"You might be surprised," she offered.

She found herself against the wall then, Saitou's body blocking her escape. His large hands had just missed her head and the dark shadow that came over his face send panic racing through her mind. Surely he wouldn't harm her in front of everybody.

"You stupid girl," he hissed, every muscle in his body tense. It was all he could do to resist slapping her across the face.

"I-I'm sorry," she whispered. And she was. She didn't know what for, but something she said had angered him so much she was sure it was only their public location that was keeping him from giving her the beating of a lifetime.

"_You_," he said, grabbing her chin and forcing her to look at him directly, "have never taken the life of another."

He let her go then, roughly pushing her to the ground and storming away. Harada noticed this and, after sending Saitou inside with a string of profanities, held out his hand to her.

"You alright missy? He's got a temper, that one."

She didn't answer, but looked towards the house where Saitou had vanished. She wasn't one of them, that much he had made clear. Perhaps she and Soushi had been inseparable as children, but they were adults now. Things were different.

How foolish she had been.

"Shou-chan."

This time it was Okita. He laid a hand on her elbow and encouraged her to turn to him. "What did he say to you? You're as pale as death."

Shousha bit her bottom lip. "Soushi," she whispered.

He tilted his head slightly, bending over to look up at her from her slightly bowed position. "What is it, Shou-chan?"

She took a deep breath before meeting his gaze.

"What is it like to kill someone?"

Okita inhaled sharply and Harada stared in shock. Deciding his presence was best served elsewhere, he silently snuck away. Searching his friend's eyes for some sort of clue, Okita gripped her arm tightly. She winced, noting that his grip was too tight, but he didn't let go. Why would she ask him that?

"That isn't something a lady should have to know." He had meant to sound soothing, to ease her curiosity, but instead, his tone had been biting and callous.

"Please, Ta-chan," she said, covering his hand with her own. He knew she wouldn't back down. Whatever Saitou had said to her had gotten under her skin and she needed to resolve it in her own way. He just wished it hadn't been this.

Hand still on her arm, he whisked her away into the house. They would need privacy. He was unsure of how she would react to his description.

Ushering her into their room, Okita shut the door and dropped her arm as if it were poison. He felt himself growing cold.

"Why," he asked. "why would you ask this of me?"

Shousha saw the hurt in his eyes but she didn't regret her question. Though she never meant to see him in pain, she was glad to see his facade falter. He had always gone to great lengths to be cheery and encouraging for her, that she felt useless to him. She felt like his sidekick, his entertainment, his _responsibility._

Showing this side of him made her feel that she might be able to do something for him. Maybe it could be her turn to comfort him. In order for her to be of any use, she needed to know the truth of what he felt. In order to become one of them, a true Shinsengumi woman, she needed to understand.

"I. . ." she trailed off, unable to put her thoughts into words.

He loosened, giving her a sad smile. "It's alright," he said, holding out his hand to her. "Let's forget it."

"No!" she cried, taking his hand, but dropping to the ground herself. She had never before put herself in such a submissive position, but she had gone so long without him that she was about to do anything to keep him by her side.

He stood there, above her and his heart ached. He understood what it felt like to be useless, to not be on the same level of the one he loved.

"Please stand up," he pleaded, trying to pull her to her feet, but she wouldn't budge.

"I want to understand, Soushi," she said, tightening her hold on his hand. "I want to bear your burden with you."

And for the first time since he was a child, Okita wanted to cry. He wouldn't; he had more control than that, but it was the first time he had ever been so touched. This girl, this _woman_ wanted to lift his sorrow. She wanted to sacrifice her innocence and naivety for the sake of his emotional well being. And what did he have to offer her?

Nothing.

The killing wouldn't stop. The blood would continue to rain down on him and she wanted to take it with him. All of it. He wouldn't marry her; he couldn't. They would never have children, and though he came from money, so did she. It didn't matter. He had nothing of value to give to her, this savior woman. He had always felt unworthy of her kindness and friendship, but never more than in this moment.

"It is a big burden," he told her, "I can't ask that of you."

"Then don't ask," she replied. "Just let me do it."

Unable to control himself, he fell to his knees, cupping her face in his hands. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers and closing his eyes.

"I don't deserve this," he ground out, caressing her cheeks with his thumbs, "You shouldn't be here with me."

"Please," she begged, tiny hands wrapping around his wrists. She could feel his pulse. It was racing to match her own. "Let me love you."

It was his undoing.

Burying his face in the crook of her neck, he broke down. His hands dropped from her face to her arms where they grasped at fistfuls of silk. In response, she brought herself around him, cradling his shaking shoulders. She had never seen him cry before, but she wasn't afraid. Saitou was right. He had seen and done things that haunted him every day. It was all she could do to be there to help him through it.

"I've been so blind," he sobbed, pressing his face further into the heaven that was her skin, "so blind."

She held him close, stroking his hair, his beautiful black hair that easily matched her own. As he continued to empty himself of years of tears, she let her mind wander back to what she had said.

_Let me love you_.

She had let the words slip out of her mouth before she could think better of it. It wasn't until that very moment that she knew Tokio had been right. Soushi was and always would be her best friend, but as they grew up and she waited for his return, it wasn't because she wanted to wade in the river with him or chase after fireflies. She was in love with him.

Whether or not he felt the same didn't matter to her. She was madly, wildly, and most certainly dangerously in love. Just being able to be with him was enough. If she could stay by his side, understand his pain, and give him the comfort he had always so graciously given her, she would be happy.

The rhythm of his breakdown was suddenly interrupted by a cough. It was a small cough, but as another came, and his breathing became labored, Okita pushed himself off of her. Shousha jumped, startled, and though he hadn't regained enough composure to stand, he turned away from her, covering his mouth with a sleeve as another wave hit him, this time accompanied by a terrifying wheezing.

"Soushi!" she cried, scrambling to sit more upright that she might be able to help him. "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing," he wheezed, being sure to keep his mouth covered. He could feel the blood soaking into his sleeve, but there was no reason for her to know. This was one burden he refused to have her carry.

"You're sick!" she protested, reaching for his shoulder, but he was faster.

"No, Shousha!" He shoved her away and though he was rapidly losing his strength, she tumbled into a table, knocking over a set of vases. She screamed as they toppled over, just barely missing her as they shattered onto the floor.

He saw her pale, and he saw her start to shake. He hadn't meant to hurt her. He hadn't meant to be so rough, but he couldn't let her know about this. He wouldn't let her see his weakness.

His death sentence.

"I'm sorry," he whispered shakily, laying his head down on the floor to regain some energy. He would have to be more careful about exhausting himself. "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head and he smiled in relief.

"T-Ta-chan. . ."

He let out a small laugh. "What, this? It happens more often than you think," he said grimly. "we put our bodies through some awful stress. It's only natural for it to break down and force us to take a rest."

He hoped his vague excuse was enough to pacify her. It seemed to do the trick and when she sat before him and pulled his head into her lap, he closed his eyes.

"It's the worst feeling in the world, taking someone's life," he said quietly after some time, allowing himself to enjoy the role reversal.

Shousha began to trace his features with feather-like delicacy.

"In that moment, when my sword pierces their body, there is no Shinsengumi, there is no Ishinshishi, there are only two men. I feel the life leave his body; it travels through my blade and into my hands. In that moment, I have passed judgement on him. I decided that he deserved to die. I decided to widow his wife and orphan his children. In that moment, I find my own existence repulsive."

Shousha's fingers slowed, but didn't stop. "Then why do you do it?"

He reached for her other hand and, bringing it to his lips, laid a gentle kiss on each of her fingertips. She paused, butterflies erupting in her belly.

"For you," he breathed, "For Japan. Before that moment, it's exhilarating. After that moment I feel success, triumph, and pride. It is just for that one moment in time that I wish I chose a different path. That one moment."

"And this moment?"

He kissed her hand again before bringing it to rest on his heart.

"In this moment, I have no sins."

xxxx

**Author's Note: **This chapter took a completely different turn than I had originally intended. I found it very challenging to have Okita break down without sacrificing his masculinity and strength as a warrior. I have my fingers crossed that you all approve of my approach.

The baseball scene was inspired by an episode of Samurai Champloo. I didn't actually even intend to put it in, but then my fingers took over.

Stay tuned for more! :


	7. Offering

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs

**Changes in Friendship**

_Chapter Seven_

"I'm beginning to think you're waiting for me."

Saitou looked up from pulling back the covers of his futon to watch Tokio pull the pin out of her hair, letting the gorgeous raven locks cascade down her back in an entrancing waterfall of curls. She shook her head, allowing some hair to fall over her shoulders, the shorter ends tickling her neck. His breath caught in his throat and he averted his eyes from the distraction.

"Why would I do that?" he asked coldly, sitting back on his heels as she slid into bed.

Propping her head up on her opened palm, she smiled at him. The first night she had surprised him. The second night she caught him right before he fell asleep. The third and forth nights she had come to visit, his candle was still burning and it had been ever since.

They never did much of anything in those early hours of the morning. She'd climb through his window and he would send a multitude of scathing remarks her way. When she refuted them, he'd pretend he was irritated and stuff her under the covers, ordering her to sleep.

_You're ugly when you're tired_, had been his reasoning. The truth was, he had grown fond of this little wretch. For some reason, when she was with him, he didn't feel so empty. She irritated him beyond belief, always surprising him with her antics whether it be blatantly invading his personal space or tumbling through his window in the middle of the night, or even simply ordering him about.

Still, he enjoyed her presence and wasn't keen on her sacrificing all of her sleep for these stupid games. The first night that he decided it best she nap for a few hours, he had pushed her down and thrown a blanket at her. When she finally did fall asleep, he couldn't help but watch her the entire time.

"I'm going to market tomorrow," she said absently, braiding her hair, "around noon."

Saitou grunted in response, pulling a book from a small stack he had in the corner.

"Kanako and Mori will be traveling to Edo for several days, most likely to hunt down Shousha."

Again he replied with a grunt.

"I'd _enjoy it_ if you would meet with me," she pressed, tossing her braid over her shoulder and pushing back her covers, "in daylight."

He looked at her then, donning an amused smile. "You don't like our nighttime trysts?"

Tokio ignored the fact that she didn't know what _tryst_ meant and crawled over to him.

"I had hoped to meet you in a place where we could be-" she paused, biting down on her lip and gently lifting his chin with her small hand, "_alone_."

With a gruff snort, Saitou lowered her hand from his face. "We are alone, you fool."

Crossing her arms, she looked away from him. "I would like to do something fun, for once. All of this sitting in the dark and sleeping is boring. I thought you had more in you, Hajime."

Smiling to himself, he placed the book down on the floor. "I know many ways of making the dark fun," he said, his voice suddenly low and husky.

She returned her gaze to him and found something in his features that set her body aflame. The way he looked at her in her sleepwear, his eyes traveling all over her body as if he could see right through the material that covered her skin. It unnerved her and it excited her. No man had ever looked at her this way before, like he wanted to devour her whole.

Saitou reached out and with ease, lifted her into his lap. He lowered his mouth to her jaw and when he whispered to her, he felt her breath speed up.

"Didn't you say the company of a woman would do me well?" he asked, teasing her skin with his words. She squirmed against him, but he held her tightly.

"This sort of company is inappropriate," she gasped.

"Since when do you care about what's appropriate or not?" he asked, taking her face in his large hand, forcing her to look at him. She wasn't afraid and it was her courage that made Saitou ache for her. She wasn't some wispy maiden like Okita's woman, she was strong and confident. Even in her discomfort, she had the spark of challenge in her eyes.

"If that's the case," she began haughtily, determined to keep control of herself, "if you plan to ease your frustrations with me tonight, be sure that my frustrations are eased as well."

Chuckling, he lowered her onto her back, her hair splayed out beneath them like a puddle of ink. She was really something.

"You can be certain," he said, raising her leg to his shoulder, leaving a trail of surprisingly light kisses from her knee to her ankle, "that you will be most satisfied."

Tokio's heart beat so loudly she was almost certain it would wake whoever was asleep in the rooms sandwiching the one she was in. Adrenaline shot through her entire body and there was a lazy warmth settling in between her legs. She didn't know why, but the gentle way he was handling her caused her very thoughts to stutter.

She had to stop him. If it was this easy for him to take control of her, she would lose herself to him in an instant. She wasn't ready to lose, not after she had successfully won his attention and what makeshift kindness he put forward. She would tell him no. Not tonight. There would be other times, in the future, when things were-

Despite her scrambled thoughts of _no_, a soft moan escaped her lips as his mouth nipped at the flesh of her inner thigh. That was no place for a mouth to be, but it felt so wonderful, she didn't even care. If she was branded as a loose woman for the rest of her life, it wouldn't have mattered, so long as Saitou Hajime had her in his hands.

From his position kneeling on the floor, holding one of her legs to his shoulder like one might a plank of wood, Saitou wanted to laugh. He knew how easy it would be to take her here and now. She was innocent of such scandals so even the slightest of touches was driving her wild.

He enjoyed watching her, eyes closed, completely taken in by the bliss, cheeks tinged with a delicate shade of coral, offering herself to him.

But she didn't fully understand what she was offering him and as much as he wanted nothing more but to tear her yukata from her body and elicit her passionate cries of _Oh, Hajime!, _he wouldn't. Not tonight.

Sliding her ankle from his shoulder, he draped a blanket over her and brushed some hair from her eyes. She didn't open them, but lay content in the small bit of ecstasy he had shown her.

"Go to sleep, you filthy minx," he laughed softly, taking his place in the corner of the room. He would wake her at dawn as he always did, and he briefly wondered if she would be embarrassed when she woke. It wasn't likely. If anything she would do her best to persuade him to continue where he had left of.

She was dangerous, he noted to himself before allowing sleep to come lure him in, but if tonight had been any indication of her appetite for the lewd and perverse, he was willing to throw himself into the flames.

xxxx

It was late morning and Kondo and Shousha sat opposite each other over a game of _go. _It had been several years since she had been in his presence comfortably and she had openly accepted his invitation.

He had grown old, she observed, watching him as he thought out his next move. He had always been a rugged man, homely and comfortable. There was a twinkle in his eyes that she had loved as a child, no matter how much he had tried to feign sternness with her. The war had not been kind to him and as she traced his subtle wrinkles with her eyes, she felt a true sadness coming over her.

He was still young; not yet forty, but as strong as he was built, his spirit had taken just as much abuse. The amused sparkle that she adored was fading and in that moment, she had to search for it. It wasn't until this moment, seeing how hardened he had become, did she realize the severity of their situation. Too long she had been holed up in her world of riches and silks, exotic treasures and playful rebellion. The young man she and Soushi had so enthusiastically admired was growing old before his time. Right before their eyes.

"I used to fear you," she admitted sheepishly.

Kondo looked up in question. "Why on earth would you fear me?"

"Not you," she corrected, "but the Shinsengumi. The Miburo."

Letting out a labored sigh, he placed his marker on the board. "That is unfortunate. I had hoped that perhaps you would be supporting us in your own silly way."

Disappointed in herself, Shousha fingered the white stone in her hand. "I was ignorant. I allowed gossip to sway my choices."

"It is understandable," he told her gently, "A young woman of your standing must have been told many stories."

She winced slightly. _A woman of her standing_. The daughter of corruption. She had always turned a blind eye to what her parents were doing. What did she care? Soushi had been away from her. All she had wanted was for him to come home. How foolish _she_ had been to be so uninformed.

"I was told many stories," she confirmed, "horrible stories of the wolves that prowled the streets. My parents had always said I needn't worry, that they pulled enough strings to keep anyone from attacking me, but I couldn't believe it entirely. No matter who was caught in their web, wouldn't it make the most sense to target me? Without Soushi I felt afraid, as if at any moment a wolf would come devour me whole."

Kondo let out a hearty laugh then. "Girl, you are as romantic as ever."

"I'm not exaggerating!" she protested

He shook his head, "Do you play out every scenario in your life as elaborately as that one?"

"I know it sounds foolish," she said, lowering her voice as her cheeks began to warm with embarrassment, "but I was genuinely afraid that the Shinsengumi would not hesitate to kill a woman."

Placing his chin to rest on his fist, he looked at her intently, "And now?"

Her smile was back and she spread her arms. "How could I be afraid with so many familiar faces? I had been so obsessed with my fear that I had never seen _who_ the Shinsengumi were. I had spent my days hiding in shops and dodging any signs of light blue. If I had been even the least bit informed, perhaps I wouldn't have had to wait for a chance encounter to see him again."

Kondo regarded her words with reverence before speaking again.

"I am glad you two met again when you did."

Shousha lowered her hands and her smile faded into a look somewhere between curiosity and concern.

"Sir?"

He shifted his weight. "The two of you were always carefree and full of mischief. As great as a swordsman as he is, if not for the time you two spent apart, I'm not entirely sure Okita would have grown into the warrior that he has."

She lowered her eyes. "Are you saying that I'm-"

"I am not trying to demean you in any way Shousha," he interrupted, "I simply mean to state that as children you both were convinced that the world could not touch you so long as you had each other. I firmly believe that you and he needed to experience the world for what it was, it's difficulties, struggles, and successes outside of the private world you had created."

When she began to chew on her lip, he reached over to lay a heavy hand on her shoulder. "I am very grateful for those such events. You have both grown into people I can be proud to call friends."

She smiled then, but not because she was happy. She didn't believe him. "Have I grown at all? Didn't you yourself say I was as silly as ever?"

"It's true," he agreed, "but you are a woman with the spirit of a girl. You have learned heartache, but you are still so determined to see the smiles of others. I envy your spirit."

Shousha nodded.

"But that isn't why I called you here this morning," he admitted, rubbing his chin as if ridding it of a sticky sauce.

She looked at him curiously, then broke out into a largely exaggerated grin, pointing at him. "You mean you've been planning something!"

He had meant to be stern, as his request was heavy, but as always, she had him chuckling. No doubt her imagination had conjured up any number of story-book events. Highway robbery, Piracy, Midnight stakeouts, or (he had no doubt she was hoping for it) a marriage between her and Okita.

"I have been planning something," he said, nodding and motioning for her to calm down, "though I will respect your objection, I have to ask you to consider what I have to say carefully. There are many things riding on your decision."

Shousha became solemn then. He had never spoken to her in such a serious tone. It was as if guilt was eating at him for even mentioning this plan of his. He was going to ask her to do something and it would be real. There would be no heroes, no damsels in distress, and no silly romantic notions. This was life.

This was war.

The shouji opened then and Okita poked his face in. "Shou-chan!" Then, noticing Kondo, he smiled and waved, "Kondo-sama."

Kondo relaxed, nodding in greeting to the cheery man in the doorway. Okita tilted his head to the side, absorbing the mood of the room and when he spoke, his tone was light, but careful.

"Is this a bad time?"

His leader stood then, brushing off his knees, and returning his smile. "Of course not. We can continue our conversation at another time."

He walked towards the door and Shousha stood, reaching out to him.

"Kondo-sama!"

He turned to her and regarded her with gentle ease. "It is alright. We shall speak later." He handed Okita a small piece of paper that he procured from the sleeve of his gi and the smaller of the two took it with a smile.

As Kondo exited the room, he met with Hijikata.

"Have you spoken with Harada?"

Hijikata nodded. "He has accepted."

"Good. And Okita?"

"No," replied Hijikata, "I have not presented him with the current situation. I wonder if it is wise to do so. We can not accept rash actions, Kondo. This may become a matter of the heart. You know as well as I how messy that can become."

Kondo accepted the opinion, but chose not to oblige with Hijikata's subtle request that they leave the first captain in the dark.

"Okita's heart beats for the Shinsengumi. You should not put such little faith in him simply because his woman has made an appearance."

"It is not her appearance that worries me, Kondo," he said gravely, "it is the possibility of what might happen to her that worries me."

"Like I said before," Kondo stated just a hair louder than the conversation had been thus far, his tone pulling rank. "Okita's heart beats for the Shinsengumi. There is no possibility of failure."

xxxx


	8. Market

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs

**Changes in Friendship**

_Chapter Eight_

Okita slipped the paper into his money pouch and grinned at Shousha who looked ill at ease. He was tired of her being so downcast and uncomfortable. The Shousha he knew was cheery, if a bit skeptical, opinionated, and full of life. The woman before him was none of the above.

"I'm going out to the marketplace, Shou-chan," he said, pushing the door open further, "I was hoping you'd join me."

Her eyes lit up. "Oh Soushi, I would love to," she said, standing and adjusting the low ponytail she wore, "but it's almost lunchtime and I have to help the women in the-"

She was interrupted by the slip of paper that he thrust in her face.

"Not true," he chirped, "they'd much rather you did the shopping. Something about you always being underfoot."

She snatched up the grocery list with a playful scowl. "Underfoot my ass," she mumbled, but he only laughed and steered her from the room with two firm hands on her shoulders.

"You should watch your language, Shou-chan," he chastised, continuing to lead her through the halls from behind, "you never know who might be listening."

She snorted. "And who would be so offended by the word 'ass'?"

And, because it seemed customary that he ruin all of her fun and make a point of embarrassing her at every turn, Saitou showed up, having just come downstairs, and raised his hand slightly.

"I believe I might find a woman's cussing rather distasteful."

_I believe I find _you_ rather distasteful,_ she said bitterly to herself, glaring up at him.

He ignored her threatening stare and addressed Okita lightly, "Have you no students today?"

Okita shook his head, dropping his hands from Shousha's shoulders. "The morning students have finished and it won't be for a couple of hours before the afternoon class shows up. We're going out to market to get some groceries. Would you join us?"

Shousha's heart sank. She had been looking forward to spending time with Soushi alone. Between his students and the patrol, it seemed as if she spent an hour with him at most on any given day.

Saitou, however, didn't seem bothered to be a third wheel. He nodded and the three of them made their way to the gate.

"Kondo-sama has something to ask of me," Shousha said after many minutes of silence. She was having a difficult time keeping up with Okita who was used to walking at Saitou's lengthy pace and she was certain conversation might slow him down so she might at least be able to walk at his side.

"What is it?" Okita asked, pausing briefly that his friend might not have to struggle so hard to catch up.

"I'm not sure," she said, falling into step with him, "I was hoping you might know. It seemed serious."

Saitou took a drag of his cigarette. "What sort of trouble have you gotten yourself into? I don't see why Kondo-sama would have any use for a girl like you except to punish you."

Shousha moved to object, but Okita stopped her, lacing his fingers between her own. The sudden, yet subtle display of affection caught her by surprise and she moved for a more lady-like rebuttal.

"He told me there were many things riding on my decision," she explained, "and he said I could refuse-"

"Then just refuse," Saitou sighed, tossing his cigarette away, not having any interest in her story.

"_But_," she pressed, "he asked me to reconsider. Before he had even asked me what it was he intended to ask."

Okita furrowed his brow. The air had been so thick with tension in that room that he had almost backed out completely. He couldn't come up with a single idea as to what Kondo might want from Shousha, so he opted to giving her hand a loving squeeze, being sure to rub his thumb against the back of her hand as he spoke reassuring words.

"I'm sure it can't be all that bad, Shou-chan," he told her, smiling brightly as he always did, "what could be so terrible?"

She smiled back, thankful for the physical contact. Somehow, no matter how unnerved she was, his touch, his words, and his smile, melted away all of her worries. He was with her; she was safe.

"I'll be taking my leave now," Saitou said then, seeming to catch the eye of someone in the crowd that was the daily market. "Before the two of you make me vomit."

Shousha couldn't help but let out a giggle at his discomfort and Okita raised an eyebrow.

"Where will you go? Do you intend to find us later?"

Lighting up another cigarette, Saitou waved off the question. "I've come here to meet someone."

Just then a familiar face appeared before them. Hauling silks, wheat, and what looked to be a sack of turnips, appeared Tokio through the crowd. She smiled brightly at the group, nearly losing the bolts of fabric as she waved enthusiastically. Not caring much for anyone around her, she made a dash towards them, as best she could, of course.

"How wonderful to see you all!" she said, cheeks flushed from her labors, eyes sparkling with delight. She dropped the turnips at Saitou's feet and readjusted the weight of the silk on her shoulder.

"You idiot," he growled in response, snatching the fabric from her shoulder and bearing its weight with his own. "Are you intending to drop dead under all of this?"

"I wouldn't have had to carry it all myself," she said matter-of-factly, "if there was any man worth a damn in that household."

Shousha's eyes widened at the curse and they traveled up to Saitou's face, awaiting his reaction to such language. There wasn't one.

"Perhaps you should find another household then," he told her, tossing the turnips over his shoulders as well. "I'm sure you're not of much use to the Yamata family now that your mistress has," he glanced over to the two behind him, "seemingly run off."

When Tokio stormed off ranting about there being no other houses, with Saitou in tow (and carrying all of her goods-of his own free will), Okita and Shousha looked at each other, trying to find their words.

"You don't think. . ." Shousha trailed off.

"_Takagi-san_?" Okita wondered in disbelief. "He came to meet _Takagi-san?_

Slightly offended, she continued to stare at the street that had now filled back in. "What do you mean 'he came to meet _Takagi-san_?' She came to meet him as well."

"Yes," he added, still not entirely sure how to interpret what he had just seen, "That is exactly what baffles me."

xxxx

"Buy me something to eat," Tokio requested after finishing her shopping.

Laden with her goods, Saitou scoffed at her. "What for?"

"You owe it to me," she said, chin raised elegantly, "after practically ravishing me."

Letting out an amused laugh, he called over a rickshaw. "Have these items delivered to the Yamata house," he ordered, dropping a couple coins into the boy's hands. He then directed his attention back to the maid who was standing on the side of the road, looking at him as if she had some sort of power over him.

She did, but he wasn't about to admit it.

"Ravish you?" he asked, taking her arm and pretending to be entertained as they began to walk, "You will know it when I ravish you."

She inhaled quickly. "You-you plan on ravishing me?"

"Of course," he said, not looking at her. "Did you honestly think we were playing a cute little game? That I would begin to court you as if you were a proper lady?"

It wasn't exactly how she had planned it out in her mind, as she had learned to take their relationship and her place in his life one day at a time. Still, even if she wasn't a hopeless romantic, a little bit of fluff, some warm feelings, maybe even a gentle kiss? She was still a girl after all, and despite her rough attitude and seemingly tough skin, even she wanted to feel wanted, needed, loved even.

"I have no desire for silly romances," he went on, "such frivolous theatrics are a waste of time and cause too much distraction."

She looked up at him from the corner of her eye, "Surely you must want something more than just _company_," she said.

"But when the time does come for me to ravish you," he said, ignoring her statement, "I will be sure that it is because you are begging me to do so."

"How perverted," she mumbled as she smiled to an acquaintance who was passing by them. "Do you really think I would beg you to do something so scandalous?"

He grinned a wolfish grin and bent down to whisper against her ear, "There must have been some reason I had you moaning in my bed this morning."

This time it was she who was stunned into silence.

xxxx

Okita bowed and thanked the nurse at the clinic who had handed him a small glass jar.

"Medicine?" Shousha asked as her friend stepped back outside, tucking the jar away.

He nodded, taking her hand in his again. "For the coughing season. Winter is nearing, Shou-chan."

Okita was thankful for Shousha's ignorance. Growing up with everything at her fingertips, she knew very little of the world. She knew not the details of disease or the medications that could keep its symptoms at bay, even temporarily. So long as she believed his half-truths, he could remain undiscovered.

"I think we have everything we came for," Shousha murmured, checking over the list of dinner ingredients, "we should go home, I'm sure there's a lot of work to do. Your students will be arriving soon."

He agreed and not a minute into their journey towards the dojo, Shousha broke out into the conversation that had been at the front of their minds all afternoon.

"Do you really think Tokio meant to meet Saitou? That they're meeting without us knowing? Are they having an affair?"

Okita laughed, pulling her close enough to plant a light kiss on her cheek. It was a brave move that sent whispers rippling through the streets. The sudden pull on her arm caused Shousha to struggle with her balance and she nearly lost the basket of produce she carried in her left hand.

"I think Takagi-san is a good choice for Saitou-san," he said truthfully, sliding a sly grin over at her reddening cheeks.

"He is a scary man!" she argued, trying to shove all thoughts of her friend and the man whom she dreaded from her mind.

"She is a scary woman," Okita pointed out, countering her biased opinion. He began to chuckle lightly and Shousha shot him a dirty look. "Saitou-san is so used to being in control, a woman willing to break down his walls is a very worthy woman indeed."

"I don't like it," Shousha pouted.

"Would you believe that she forced him to walk her home on the night that they met?"

Her gasp was so loud, it caused several strange looks from passers by. "Love at first sight?"

Still laughing, he pulled her through the gate as they reached home. "No, Shou-chan. Saitou-san was so _shocked_ that a maid was ordering him that he couldn't think to refuse. He obeyed her command right there on the spot."

"Oh." Shousha hadn't known about that. It did seem then that Tokio had the upper hand on this sour fellow. Just as she was about to ask for more details on the event, Hijikata appeared and without acknowledging her, addressed Okita.

"A word please, Okita."

Shousha hurried off to the kitchen where the women were no doubt waiting for the food they had sent her to fetch and Okita nodded curtly, following Hijikata down the hall.

As they knelt across from each other, Hijikata as stony and cold as ever, Okita suddenly felt strange, as if he had done something wrong. That wasn't the case, he knew, but the air in the room became similar to that of Kondo and Shousha's conversation.

"As you are well aware," began Hijikata, "there is the matter of the unknown hitokiri."

"Yes."

"We believe, according to several of our sources, that we might have found him."

Okita said nothing, allowing the second in command to continue.

"It has been said that he drinks with Iizuka and greatly enjoys the company of a hired woman."

"Iizuka," Okita echoed, surprised, "the examiner?"

"The very same. Kondo-san and I have devised a plan, a trap really, for this hitokiri."

"Are you so certain we have the right man? Would such a dangerous man make himself known?"

"He hasn't." Hijikata stated, "We have been looking into this for a matter of weeks."

"And I have been kept unaware?"

"It was not necessary for you to know until now."

Okita bristled. "Hijikata-san. What reason is there that I would be left uninformed of such an important matter? We have all been looking for this hitokiri. Do you doubt my strength?"

"We all know how capable you are," Hijikata replied cooly, "I never thought you the type of man who needs to have his ego stroked."

Okita sat back and relaxed. "Of course not."

"The truth is, this plan involves your woman. We could not inform you until we had worked out every detail, lest you become distracted."

_Shou-chan._

Okita broke out into a playful grin. "You really do underestimate me, Hijikata-san. Shousha is very dear to me, but I am hardly ever distracted."

Hijikata stared ahead at the first captain, satisfied. Pulling out a folded piece of paper, he opened it, laid it between the two of them and began to explain their course of action. Okita listened intently, not showing any sign of apprehension or hesitation. Kondo had been right.

Once the plan had been presented in its entirety, he nodded to his superior.

"I will accept this mission," he said, his eyes glittering with determination, and anticipation. Shousha would not be harmed with himself and Harada by her side and he would have the chance to meet _him_. The man who made it rain blood.

The thought of battling a man of such skill sent chills of excitement up his spine.

xxxx


	9. Courtesan

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs

**Changes in Friendship**

_Chapter Nine_

In a room where she was the only woman, Shousha stood. She glared at them all defiantly: Kondo, Hijikata, Harada, Saitou, and Okita. Soushi. He had agreed to this. He was willing to put her life in danger.

"I can't believe any of you," she spat, glaring down at all of them, daring them to say a word.

None of them did. Kondo had made it clear she had the choice to accept or decline and he wouldn't be so arrogant as to try and coax her into his wishes. Hijikata and Saitou both had every intention of silencing her with one cutting phrase as soon as her tirade was over. Harada was resisting the urge to turn her anger into playful banter and Okita knelt silent in disappointment.

"To think that grown men of your capabilities would have the gall to use a virgin as bait," she continued, "is this a game to you? Are you really so ruthless as to send an innocent into the fire of the battlefield?"

Okita stood as she turned her back to them and took hold of her wrist to prevent her from walking out on them.

Furious, she turned and slapped him hard across the face.

"_And you!_" she screeched, "you agreed to all of this! I see where your loyalties lie!"

Though her strike had been painful, Okita hadn't so much as flinched. He softened his expression, his grip loosening slightly.

"Yes, Shou-chan. These are my loyalties." He sighed as her eyes flashed. She was still so ignorant, so spoiled. "And this is my burden. You want to bear it with me, don't you?"

He had caught her. It was a low blow, uncalled for under any other circumstance, but he hadn't any other choices. If he had to play dirty and question _her _loyalty, so be it. They needed her help.

Her breath became ragged then and tears began to gather in her eyes. "You're want to put me in danger," she whispered, trying not to believe it.

He offered her a small smile, encouraging her to kneel back down that they might have a rational, less impulsive discussion.

"Of course I don't want to," he told her handing her a handkerchief, "but right now, this is the best plan we have."

"But why me!" she sobbed, accepting the hankie and burying her face in it. Okita looked to his comrades and gave them a hopeful shrug as he put one arm around his friend's shoulders.

"Because I trust you," Kondo spoke up, "and I also trust that Harada and Okita will see to your safety."

Hijikata addressed her as well. "You also have no known assets. You are unmarried and estranged from your parents. Should anything go wrong, it would be as if you had never existed to begin with. You are the perfect bait."

This only caused her to wail louder and though both Hijikata and Saitou regarded this with annoyance, Harada made an attempt to lighten the mood.

"Don't you worry missy," he said, coming over to mirror Okita's half-embrace and giving her a little squeeze, "we'll be in, out, and finished like a fifteen year old boy."

Okita looked over at him in horror at the terrible joke, but the lanky man only returned his shock with a goofy grin.

"Don't even try to say you've never been there," he said, using his free hand to ruffle Okita's hair.

"I haven't," the other replied plainly. "I've always had enough self control to-"

He was interrupted by Shousha who shoved him off of her, holding up a fist through her tears. "I don't want to hear you speak of other women," she sniffled.

With two hands, he lowered her fist and wiped her eyes. "There are no other women," he promised gently, "and there never will be."

Saitou cleared his throat then. "This is all very touching," he drawled, "but I don't believe that whiny little bitch understands exactly what we are asking of her."

Shousha stopped crying, holding in a hiccup and Saitou continued, staring at her with distain.

"Kondo-sama has asked you to assist us in a way that only you could. A trap under the veil of seduction. A cover, that is all. Perhaps you don't know your so-called friends as well as you pretend to. No man in their right mind would send a cherished woman into such a situation unless he was absolutely certain no harm would come to her.

"These very same men put their lives on the line every single day so that _you_ can sit here in that pretty mess of silk and perfume. So that _you_ can cry about bullshit like having to step inside a bordello. Every day your beloved _Ta-chan_ takes lives so _yours_ will be spared."

He steeled his gaze at her, seething. "_How selfish can you be?_"

Shousha's hands dropped to the ground and she bowed as low as she possibly could. "I understand," she said, her voice loud in her own ears as it echoed in the small cavern she had tucked her head into, "and I am sorry. I will do as you ask."

Kondo and Hijikata nodded in approval, then dismissed the group.

The next night, Shousha stood in the room she and Soushi shared. Harada was with her, adjusting here, tweaking there. Having the most experience with courtesans, he had been appointed the position of preparing her for the night's journey.

"I don't feel like myself, Sanosuke," she said, fingering the obi that had been (with much help from the wives) tied in the front. She was trying to ignore the makeup on her face, the night air on her bare shoulders, but she couldn't. She had even tried telling herself she had made the mistake of tying her obi backwards, but that thought was so ridiculous that it barely lasted a second.

"Well ya look really pretty," he told her, sliding a few pins into her coiffed hair. Their charms jingled delightfully, but she didn't share their joy. She smiled at him, thanking him, but had nothing more to offer.

"So," he began, redirecting the conversation, "What's the deal with you and Okita? Are you his woman now?"

Thankful for the change of topic and the chance to spread her romantic hopes and dreams, She sighed.

"It only took me over twenty years to realize it," she said, laughing slightly, "but there is nothing that I want more than for him to call me his own."

Harada let out a surprised 'hm.' "You mean he hasn't yet? That's strange with you sleepin' in the same bed n' all."

Shousha flushed. "Oh. No, we aren't sleeping in the same bed. Soushi sleeps in the window."

"Strange place for a guy to sleep," he murmured, "he'd be a lot warmer with you."

"Sanosuke!" she cried out, flustered. Face ever warming, she scratched an itch beside her eye, doing her best not to destroy the face that was not hers.

"I'm just sayin'. It's not nice to make a guy sleep out in the cold. 'Specially one as small as Okita. Mornin' breeze might just pull him right outside."

"It's not at my request that he sleeps there," she said, lowering her head, "he refuses to share a bed with me."

Crouching before her with his elbows on his knees and his fingers pushing on his cheekbones, he laughed at her. "Always the gentleman, that one."

"Are you certain I'm not repulsive?"

Harada gave her a pointed look. "Okita is a man of great self control, apparently even at a young age. You heard him last night. There is no other woman, and there never will be."

She sighed again. "What if there is _no_ woman? What if there is-"

He thought was cut short by Harada's hand in her face. "Don't even consider it. He will vocalize it in his own time, but it is clear as day to everyone but yourself."

Then, lowering his hand, he stood and offered her his arm. "It's time."

She accepted and when they opened the door and stepped outside, Okita dropped his tea.

_Look away._

His brain was screaming the order over and over, but his eyes refused to answer to such a ridiculous command. How could he? The girl that was the object of his forbidden desire stood before him naked.

Alright so she wasn't naked, but to him she might as well have been. Her hair had been swept out of it's usual low tie and into an elegant ebony festival at the top of her head, but he ignored the gold and the pins and the jewels. He ignored her bare shoulders and the rouge on her lips. He ignored the white mask and the kohl liner and the soft desperation in her eyes.

_It was her neck_.

He realized right then in that moment that he had never, in twenty-three years, ever seen her neck completely bare. Yet here it was, deliciously enticing, slender, and oh so very very bare. There wasn't a hair that tickled it and a horribly perverse image of his mouth against it sent Okita's mind over the edge.

He had to be a gentleman. He had to be resolved and attentive. She was his best friend and she was trusting him with her life. He shouldn't be staring, and her certainly should not be fantasizing, especially at a moment such as this, but propriety be damned, he was still a man.

When the teacup fell from his hands, spilling into the floor and rolling up against a doorframe, Shousha jumped.

"It it too much?" she asked.

He shook his head dumbly and it took Harada's jokingly suggestive jabs to wake him from his stupor. Regaining his composure, Okita smiled at her, taking her hand.

"You look wonderful," he said warmly.

"So do you," she replied.

It was true. She was so used to seeing him in that wonderfully bright, somewhat shocking blue. It suited him, it really did, but before her in black and grey, she felt he was closer to her. Despite the fact that this was an important Shinsengumi mission, the lack of uniform made him feel more civilian, more hers. Without his colors, Shousha felt that he didn't have to be a captain. He could just be Soushi, walking and talking with her, a prostitute.

She almost wanted to laugh at how silly it all was.

"Shall we then?"

Taking a deep breath (one of many for this journey), she nodded, and, on the arms of both men, descended the stairs. Bidding a goodbye to Kondo and Hijikata, the three made their way into the night.

"Okita, we must look like the luckiest men in Kyoto," Harada laughed as the night air greeted them. It was just a bit into fall, nearing October, and the weather was crisp, but not yet cold.

"Am I allowed to speak?" Shousha asked, looking to each man for an answer. She had only been briefed slightly on her role as an actress as her part in the production was crucial, but very very small.

"Of course, Shou-chan," came Okita's reply, as he grinned, leaning in close to her. "you are not just a prostitute; you are a courtesan."

"I didn't know there was a difference," she said, surprised.

"Aw come on, girlie," Harada nudged, "any man can get a prostitute, but courtesans are classy stuff. You're expected to be witty and charming, as well as-" he paused to give her a naughty wink, "-_versitile."_

She looked to both of them, for a moment and then, concentrating on her footsteps, looked forward at the street. "If that's the case then why couldn't I pose as a geisha?"

Both men erupted into laughter and she dropped her hands from their arms.

"What's so funny?" she demanded, crossing her arms.

"Missy you can't just _pose_ as a geisha. You'd be found out in an instant."

"I could too."

Okita took her on his arm again, giving her hand an affectionate pat. "Shou-chan, I have to admit that Harada-san is right. You may be able to pass yourself off as witty and charming tonight, but I do not believe you are even remotely refined enough to pass yourself off as a geisha. Geisha is not a career, it's a lifestyle."

"Yeah," Harada chimed in, "would you pose as a samurai?"

"People do it," she argued.

"It's true," Okita mused, "but how many remain undiscovered?"

She couldn't disagree with them. As much as she wanted to be offended, she knew that all the money in the world couldn't polish her without streaks.

They arrived at the teahouse several minutes later and when they stood before the building, their laughter and jokes died down. Okita removed himself from her arm; she would be going ahead with Harada first.

"I'm scared, Ta-chan!" Shousha whispered, beginning to panic and grasping the air for his haori.

He motioned with his hands for her to calm down and take a deep breath. Men were coming and going and it he wasn't about to let her blow their cover at the entrance.

"You remember what you must do?"

She nodded. "Speak with him and encourage him to take me to bed." she paused, suddenly drawing a blank. She had so many times thought of witty and playful banter that she had wanted to use on _him _(should she ever find the courage), but the thought of using the words and flirtatious glances and touches on another man sent all of her plans cascading from her mind.

"What if he doesn't_ want_ to take me to bed?" she asked, panicked and rushed.

Okita cupped the side of her face and laid an encouraging kiss on her cheek. As he pulled away, he ran his thumb over her bottom lip and smiled.

"Then he would be a fool."

With a gentle hand on the small of her back, Harada guided Shousha into the teahouse. The matron welcomed them, but aside from a few tongue clicks, no one paid them any mind. The atmosphere was different from what she had expected. It was bustling and lazy at the same time. A thick cloud of smoke hung in the air and everywhere she looked the lust was almost tangible.

But that ravenous hunger wasn't directed at her and she was set at ease. Harada never allowed his hand to move from her back, a reassuring gesture, letting her know that he was there and he wasn't going to leave her side until it had to be done.

"Do you see him?" She asked as softly as she could without her voice being drowned out by the hum.

Harada craned his neck to see through the crowd. He only had a very vague description to go by, so this wasn't the ideal setting for picking out an individual. He hoped he wasn't already upstairs with a woman.

As he scanned the room, his vision _did_ fall on a familiar face and he nudged Shousha in that direction.

"I don't know where he is," he whispered, leaning over, "but I found someone who might. When we arrive at the table, you'll be speaking to a man by the name of Iizuka."

Shousha wasn't sure what he meant, but it was time for her to put on her show. She only prayed as she walked carefully through the crowded den of men and their hired lovers that her mind would be with her and she would be quick tongued.

When Harada pulled on her kimono lightly signaling her to stop, the man before her let out a low whistle. He looked older than her, perhaps in his early thirties, but something about him sent chills up her spine as if thousands of fire ants had burrowed their way under her skin.

"I-Iizuka-san," she said quietly, bowing.

He raised an eyebrow. "You're a pretty little thing. I've never seen you before."

"Ah-" fumbling for her words, she bowed again. "That is because I am not here often."

Harada stood at her side, faux scowl on his face, doing his best to act the part of a stoic bodyguard. He wasn't a fan of the way Iizuka was looking Shousha up and down, playing out filthy scenes in his mind. Still, it wasn't his place to speak to him, or at least not much.

"She is special order," he said stiffly.

"Ah, how interesting," Iizuka replied, stroking his chin with his thumb and forefinger. He leaned forward, lifting his head to get a better look at her modest cleavage. "She must be very expensive."

She smiled at him. It was a small smile, a tease. "What makes you say that?"

"Women on special order are well kept, are they not? There must be something about you worth keeping you hidden away. Perhaps once your business is done here I might-"

Harada cleared his throat then, cutting him off. "I'm afraid she has been booked for the entire night."

Iizuka settled back, shooting an annoyed look at her guard. "Then to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" he asked her, taking her hand and inhaling her scent.

Shousha withdrew her hand from his grasp and upon seeing his surprise, used it to cover he mouth delicately, forcing out a giggle.

"I need your help, Iizuka-san," she told him, though there was something about the way that he was staring at her that made her want help from anyone else. "You see, I can't seem to find the man I am required to entertain."

"I take it I'm not the lucky bastard then, eh?"

She forced out another laugh and touched his shoulder, "The name I have been given is Shizawa Tomei, but I can't seem to find him."

Iizuka sighed. "Shizawa, huh? Figures."

Curious, Shousha tilted her head. "Pardon?"

"That man there," he replied, pointing to a well dressed man surrounded by at least six women. "he doesn't keep his women for very long," he added with a suggestive grin, "so you might find yourself with some free time after all."

Harada stepped in then, staring down at the wormy lecher, "She has been paid for."

With little regard, he dismissed Harada's threatening glare with a wave. "Perhaps tomorrow then?"

"I doubt you will find yourself with adequate funds."

Iizuka rubbed his chin again. "Perhaps you should not be so quick to judge a man, my friend."

Terrified that she might be bought for a second night, Shousha leaned forward just enough for her skin to catch the examiner's attention and placed a calming hand on each man's arm.

"These harsh tones will bring me bad luck," she said, giving her friend a light squeeze of thanks, "please do not let me be the subject of your quarrel."

Really, this was all very tiring. Standing, walking and talking so formally was already giving her a headache and she hadn't even begun what they had set out to have her do. If she had to take much more of this man's lustful stares, she was sure she'd be forced to break her facade and give him what he deserved; a swift punch in the teeth and about two hundred of her words that would in no way, shape, or form, be carefully thought out or delivered with grace.

"You're right," he said, flicking his gaze towards her target, "your client awaits. I apologize deeply for upsetting you, my beautiful flower."

She bowed in thanks and though she could still feel his eyes on her, put him from her mind and headed towards Shizawa Tomei.

When she arrived at the table, she assessed the other women and was pleased to find none of them dressed as elaborately as she. As she bowed, so did Harada.

"Shizawa-san," he said, stepping away from Shousha and offering her to him. "A gift. This woman is yours for the remainder of the night."

The women let out a collective soft gasp and scattered. Harada left to observe from a less conspicuous place.

Shousha smiled at the man she had been told was a ruthless killer. "Please allow me to take care of you."

There was a hunger in this man's eyes, but it was not the same sort of hunger that Iizuka had demonstrated. She couldn't quite place it, but it most definitely unnerved her. He wasn't a bad looking man, so she understood why so many of the women had been vying for his attention. He was also well dressed, implying of course that he had money, but his stare continued to vex her.

"Shall we have tea?" he asked as she took her place next to him.

Shousha stiffened. "Perhaps you would prefer sake?"

She couldn't serve this man tea. It would be all over. She could cook, she could arrange flowers, and she was just as skilled with a brush as the next well bred lady, but though she might have been the only woman in Japan who couldn't, she could not prepare and serve tea properly.

Surely the woman she was pretending to be had been doing so flawlessly for many years.

He didn't answer her, but placed two fingers under her chin, tilting her face so that she was unable to look away from him. He was gentle, but commanding.

"Maybe we should go upstairs then."

A lump formed in her throat. This was it.

xxxx

Harada sat at a table in the far corner. He could see Shousha, but it was unlikely that she or their hitokiri could see him. Women came and went and though he welcomed their company, they tired of him quickly. He wasn't a lover tonight. He was forced into boring them with his one word answers and lack of response to their touch, but that was the way it had to be.

He didn't like acting. He didn't like to be serious. Yawning, he scratched the top of his head. He had his sights on another man this evening as well. This one, a Shinsengumi spy, was awaiting a signal. once Harada gave it, the spy would in turn give Okita his signal, and they would have won.

With not much interest, he took hold of an empty sake bottle and began to spin it on the table. He hoped that was all he had to do with it. In the event of an emergency, this too would become a signal, but there wasn't room for emergencies tonight.

And there it was.

Shousha stood, accompanied by Shizawa, and the two headed to the stairs that would lead to the private chambers. It had been arranged so that there would be only one room open the entire night, the others occupied by lower ranking men who were more than happy to spend the night in the arms of a woman for the sake of their country.

All he had to do now was verify that they were, in fact, headed to bed. Rising to his feet rather abruptly, Harada found himself colliding with a group of several people. There was a burning sensation on his leg and when a pudgy boy who couldn't have been more than seventeen bowed at his feet, it occurred to him that a pot of tea had been spilled on him.

"I am so sorry!" the boy cried. Harada sniffed. He was drunk.

Several women rushed to tend to the spilled tea, as well as his soiled clothing, but the boy sluggishly shoved them all away.

"I must do it! I must repent for my sins!"

"It's uh, It's fine," the older of the two said, trying to push his way through the crowd, but no one seemed to want to let him by. The women were again trying to clean him up and the drunken fool was tugging at his gi begging for forgiveness.

Harada pushed out of the crowd, but it was too late. He had lost sight of Shousha.

xxxx

When Shizawa closed the shouji behind them, fear began to settle into Shousha's stomach. They were alone now; no one could see them and no one was within a scream's reach. No one who was in any position to help her, that was.

They had said that all she had to do was lure the hitokiri here and they would take it from there. Harada was right behind her. Soushi was right behind him. She was fine. She would be fine.

"Generally I enjoy a cup of tea before taking a woman to bed," he said, opening the window and looking outside.

She laughed nervously. "I confess I have never mastered the tea ceremony."

He raised a curious eyebrow. "Then how is it you have survived as an entertainer?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but as he closed the distance between them, she found no words. He pushed her down onto the futon and she did her best to scoot away from him slightly.

"Or," he continued, "are you just _that _great at what you do?"

The hunger was raging now and still Shousha didn't recognize it. It wasn't lust. It wasn't. So then _what was it_?

She did her best to give him a seductive smile. "Would you like to find out for yourself?"

If it had been the right thing to say, it had been a bad decision. She found herself on the flat of her back then, hands pinned at the wrists to the floor above her head. He had lost his calm, respective demeanor and it had been replaced with an animalistic rage.

"I am lucky," he laughed, though Shousha thought he ought to re-think his definition of the word 'luck'. She recognized his hunger now. It was hatred filled with a need to destroy.

"I hate women like you," he told her, spitting on her face. She turned her head, but it didn't shield her. "prancing about as if you control the world with your bodies."

"I hate men like you," she said shakily, trying to ignore the pins and needles growing in her fingers. "who kill people without a thought just because you're told to."

"What are you babbling about?" he asked, releasing her to reach for something in his sleeve.

Shousha took the opportunity to escape, even if it only meant being able to stand. She couldn't leave the room before Soushi arrived. She wouldn't ruin this for him.

"You!" she yelled, pointing at Shizawa, "You're the hitokiri doing Katsura's dirty work!"

The chuckle that escaped from deep within his throat then was the most terrifying sound she had ever heard.

"I work for no man," he said. "least of all one that can't even soil his own hands with the blood of others."

Backing herself up against the wall, she eyed the door, willing anyone to walk through. Anyone at all. Saitou. Hijikata. The pervert from downstairs could come waltzing through and she would have run to him. Hell, she would have even sought out safety in her parents.

"I take pride in my work," he continued, drawing out a blade the size of her forearm. "I'm not afraid of the blood. I'm doing the earth a favor. Tonight, I got lucky."

She smiled, a horrifyingly contorted attempt at keeping herself calm. "I-I'm not sure what you mean,"

"I rid the world of people like you. I kill sinners. That's why I feel so lucky. Someone decided to give you to me. Someone recognizes my work." He paused, giving her a wicked smile. "Somebody wants you dead just as badly as I do."

This man wasn't an assassin. He was a _psychopath._

Certain that they had the wrong man and that her choice would not effect the outcome of the war, Shousha made a dash for the door. There was no use in telling him she wasn't a real prostitute and there was no way for her to prove it. It would take some time for his image to fade from her memory so catching him again shouldn't be too difficult. She was certain that someone could-

Her head hit the floor as Shizawa used an elbow to throw off her balance and his leg to sweep hers from underneath her body. She screamed as she hit the floor, though she knew it wouldn't help her.

"I've kept myself hidden," he said, making a move to straddle her. She rolled out of the way but as he stabbed at her kimono to keep her in place, the silk tore up the middle and she scrambled to keep herself covered.

"But tonight I will put your body on display. I want to thank the person who gave you to me! I want to tell him. I want to say, '_bring me more'." _

There was nothing more Shousha could do but scream. As she had fought with her clothing, she had backed herself into a corner. Her breath quickened, her heart raced and she felt her throat closing in. The panic caused a deafening roar in her ears and her mind flashed in white blotches. They had failed.

She was going to die.

xxxx

**Author's Note:**__I thought it would be fun to introduce Iizuka earlier this time around for those of you who have read the previous version. I can't help but really enjoy working with the slimeball


	10. Kiss

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs

**Changes in Friendship**

_Chapter Ten_

Okita stood outside the teahouse, holding Harada's spear and examining all of the girls behind the slotted window. Some of them smiled at him, trying to entice him to purchase, while others kept to themselves, hoping that they would go unnoticed. Leaning forward, he cleared his throat to gain their attention.

"Pardon me, ladies, but which one of you is Sakura?"

A tall, rather slender woman lifted her head and with a tiny voice, spoke nervously. "I am, sir."

Okita smiled at her. "You are very beautiful." She was the one. As soon as she was called forward, he would be able to go inside.

The guard stepped over then, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. "If you ain't got money, kid, go home." He nodded to the spear as well as Okita's personal weapons, " 'cause we don't take kindly to trouble makers here."

Holding up his free hand, he laughed lightly. "Oh no, sir. I fully intend to enter, I'm just waiting on a friend, is all."

"Friend o' yers best hurry up then," said the guard gruffly. "we can't be lettin' you look for free."

"Of course not," replied the captain, keeping an eye on anyone coming out. "It's getting late. I might just go in myself."

It was getting late. Though they had counted on this man possibly being a man of class and culture who might actually want to have a conversation with Shousha before he took her to bed, every second that passed without a signal, Okita's mind began to wander to a worst case scenario.

Still, there wasn't much he could do. He had to wait. Wait for the signal.

He sighed. Waiting had never been this difficult.

xxxx

Surrounded by people determined to right the drunk's wrong, Harada was growing frustrated. The display had drawn a crowd, making it even more difficult to move.

"Just let me clean it!"

"Please sir, sit down."

"Perhaps we should get you out of those clothes."

The voices around him might have meant something to him on any other day. Right now they were nothing more than an inconvenient distraction, a terrifying setback, the fine line between life and death of an individual. But somehow, through the buzz of patrons and clinking of china, he heard one voice. Her voice. Her scream.

Pushing down two women, he reached for the sake bottle he had been playing with and with all of his strength, threw it across the room. It shattered against a beam and the man they were using as a spy stood and hurried from the brothel.

Then, bringing his elbow down on the nose of the inebriated youth, he muttered an apology and dashed away from the crowd, headed towards the staircase.

xxxx

Okita needed no signal. Though he had heard the bottle break, and as planned, the spy had bumped shoulders with him, murmering, 'crazy night, tonight', he was already on the move. He had heard the horrified cry that Shousha had made. It was all he needed.

Pushing past the guard, he ran into the building.

"Hey! No weapons allowed!"

But he didn't listen. As he reached the stairs at the same time as his partner, he tossed over the spear.

"What happened?" he demanded as they began their ascent.

"Drunken idiot spilled tea on me." Harada muttered, using his long legs to keep up with Okita's swift agility.

The sounds upstairs were much different than the lazy hum below, but the sound of struggle was unmistakable. They followed the sounds of her screams and when Okita flung open the shouji, the noise stopped, replaced by a strangled gasp for air.

There she was, backed into a corner, eyes wide, holding her neck and convulsing. Her clothes were in shreds and though she appeared uninjured, he found his normally placid and determined demeanor had been replaced with fury and something new.

Fear.

Shousha closed her eyes, ready to take the blade. She didn't know where Shizawa was going to cut her. Was he going to stab her? Or would he slit her throat? Was he demented with the intent to peel her skin off or chop her up into little pieces? Or maybe she would die on her own, still not able to find a way to breathe.

But the blade never came. Instead, Harada grabbed the man by the neck, throwing him up against the wall. Immediately, Okita impaled his shoulder, pinning him there. He stared at him then, all the fires of hell blazing in his eyes. Harada made his way to Shousha, covering her near naked body and holding her protectively. Though perhaps according to the rules of the Shinsengumi he should be disposing of this man, the code of friendship and manhood deemed this Okita's kill.

Shizawa moaned as the sword pierced his shoulder and he looked up at the small man responsible for his pain.

"I'm not the man you seek," he said, spitting at him.

"I know that," Okita replied coldly.

Shizawa grinned. "You must be the Shogunate's little dog, then. Your little whore over there told me all about what you were after."

Okita retracted his blade, only to embed it into Shizawa's gut. "If I find out that you have hurt her in any way, you will have wished I killed you more quickly."

Harada loosened his grip on the girl, staring ahead at the scene before him. Shousha's breathing had returned to her, the panic attack subsiding, and she allowed herself to slide down her friend's body until her feet reached the floor. He still had his left arm wrapped around her middle, ready to whisk her away to safety if need be. In his right hand, his spear was at the ready.

Shousha found herself shaking, her jaw hanging slack. She had never seen this before. Soushi had never shown anger to her, never. But this was so much more than anger. It shook her to the core; it frightened her in a way that made her feel safe, if such an emotion ever existed.

"_Because_," Okita was saying, taking his time on pulling the weapon from his victim's body, "every man knows that he can never, _never _touch-" he delivered his third jab, straight into his neck. Shizawa began to gurgle and his eyes rolled up into the back of his head.

"What is. . " With one last quick and graceful flourish, he whipped the sword back, "_MINE!"_

Instantly, the spear fell from Harada's hand and he brought his palm up over Shousha's eyes. She gasped and though she couldn't see it, she felt the spray of blood. It misted over the threads of her kimono and it splattered across her face, falling from her rouged lips and onto her tongue. Only her eyes were spared. Her eyes which, Harada knew, Okita had never wanted to witness bloodshed.

Shizawa slumped to the ground and Okita placed his hand on the wall to still the dizziness that was setting in. He hadn't meant to exert such emotion. It had been rash, impulsive, and difficult for his body to take. Despite this, he was glad he had not killed without reason. He had heard of the missing brothel girls, and even though they had not encountered their hitokiri, at least the hired women could sleep with one less fear.

Harada didn't say a word, and Shousha was silent as she pushed his hand from her eyes so that she might see everything. Okita lifted his eyes to her. What would she say? Surely she would hate him now, run away in terror, faint.

She took a step forward, unable to pull her gaze from the dead man before them. Even dead he was frightening. His hand lay outstretched as if it would grab hold of her ankle if she got too close.

Sheathing his sword, Okita reached out and swept her up into his arms.

"Don't look," he whispered as he pushed her face into the crook of his neck and crossed the room to the window. She obeyed, even squeezing her eyes shut.

When he jumped from the ledge and into the alley, she felt the autumn air grow cold and she hugged his neck tightly to share in the warmth of his body. Harada followed behind.

Kondo was waiting for them when they arrived and his eyes widened as he took in the three covered in blood. Harada scratched the back of his head nervously, unsure of how to break the news, but Okita stepped up to his leader, fully intending to brush by him, but stopping at his shoulder.

"Our information was incorrect," he said plainly, his sight focused firmly ahead of him. His anger had subsided, but only slightly. "though we did manage to stop a madman."

Kondo nodded in approval, but rubbed his chin in disappointment. "That is unfortunate."

"I also wish to request some time off."

The commander's eyes traveled to the girl in Okita's arms and he let out a small 'hm.'

"I will free your schedule tomorrow, then."

"Thank you."

He made his way into the bath house then, setting Shousha down, much to her dismay, to light the fire. He worked quickly and efficiently. He could have had someone do this for him; he was entitled, but he couldn't help but blame himself for the night's events.

While he gathered up the soaps and the cloths he would need, Shousha watched him, fear still deep in her gaze. She wasn't shaking anymore, but she wasn't speaking either. When he shrugged off his haori and tied back his sleeves, she watched every movement he made.

He knelt before her.

She flinched.

"Shousha. . ." It was all he could say, but it seemed to soothe her. She reached up and laid her hand on the top of his head, doing her best to turn up the corners of her lips.

He didn't want her to speak. Not yet. He lifted his hand and grabbed hold of one of several decorative pins in her hair. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed it across the room where it clattered against the wood and slid up against the wall. He repeated this action with all of them, a soft determination on his face.

When the pins were out, he pulled at the ribbon, bringing the ebon locks tumbling from their captivity. With quick movements, he filled a bucket with water and soap, and wetting a cloth, brought it to her face. His hand hovered for a moment, taking in the splatter of the crimson turned brown that was now flaking against her heavy makeup.

He wanted it gone. All of it. Not just the blood, but the white, the red, the black. He never wanted to see her face this way again. Holding her chin delicately in his left hand, he began to scrub with his right.

"You don't have to do this, Soushi," she said, wrapping her fingers around his wrist to stop him. It didn't.

"I do," he replied. "This is my fault, so I will right the wrong."

"But I wasn't hurt," she said, grimacing as the friction on her face was becoming almost too much to bear. Really, he didn't have to do this.

"Maybe not," he agreed, wringing out the small towel as he rinsed it, "but I put you in a situation that I regret."

"Who else could have done it?" she challenged as he rubbed her nose, taking care to ease the pressure as he neared her eyes.

To that he had nothing to say and as he finished ridding her face of that horrible mask, he cleaned the pail, filling it with fresh water.

"I was proud to have done it," she added.

Okita froze, feeling her eyes on his back. He knew the look that would be on her face when he turned. It was a look of desperation. The look that said, _please. Believe me. Accept me._ It was a look that was difficult to resist.

Sure enough, when he let himself near to her again, she was gazing at him with her brown eyes of pity. All she wanted was to make him proud, to help him through life. All she desired was to be by his side. Why was it so hard to let her?

"You were very brave," he told her as he coaxed what remained of her clothing onto the ground. Her lack of resistance surprised him and even when she was completely naked before him, neither of them seemed to notice.

Shousha sat where she was, bare as the day she was born, allowing him to clean her. Was she so brazen? No. There was no tension in the atmosphere, no desire. She wasn't ashamed, and he felt no pull of arousal. It wasn't for the lack of wanting that he felt this way, but she sat before him so defeated, only a monster would seek such an opportunity.

He pulled her hair up onto the top of her head, lathering the silky tendrils and allowing water to run from his wrists to his elbows and not much caring that his clothes were nearly soaked. He massaged her scalp, using his fingernails to loosen any of the remaining wax from her roots. From this day forward, her hair would stay as it always had. Low. Tied, braided or loose it didn't matter so long as it was never again reminiscent of tonight.

As he worked her hair into cleanliness, Shousha sat with her hands folded tightly, concentrated on the rhythm that he had worked up atop her head. Somehow with him here, washing her, caring for her, she found it easy to let the incident that brought her here slip from her mind.

"I love you, Soushi."

Her words had been soft and slightly cracked, but they hit him hard. His arms slid from her soapy hair to rest on her shoulders. He leaned on one of them to help support his now suddenly very heavy, and very weak body. Why would she say such a thing? He knew the answer to that.

He hadn't wanted to fully acknowledge her confession, as if pretending not to have noticed would have made it any less real. It was sad, really. He was a master swordsman, a prodigy even, admired among all of his men and adored by his students. He could kill without a thought, find laughter in most anything, and had even accepted that he was dying.

Why then could he not come to terms with the fact that someone could love him?

Inner turmoil churning, he hugged her neck tightly, hoping to quell the thrashing waves of self loathing and denial.

"I know you do, Shou-chan," he whispered against her ear, closing his eyes and finding a temporary peace of mind being so close to her. "And I am thankful for that."

xxxx

As Okita dressed Shousha in her sleeping yukata, they both felt the horrors of the night fade. She had soaked in the bath for quite some time and he had sat on the floor, leaning up against the wall. It had been silent since her proclamation of love as they allowed the thickness in the air to settle.

The awkwardness was gone now, replaced by a strong desire on his part to show her that her efforts for his appreciation weren't in vain. He brushed a few strands of hair from her face, smiling at her as her cheeks became tinged with pink. She seemed far more receptive to his touch now.

"We should get to bed," he told her in a whisper, though he wasn't entirely sure why he was keeping his voice so low.

She nodded, but neither of them moved. The truth was, neither of them wanted to leave the room so filled with steam and the smell of soaps. There was a stillness in here that the outside world couldn't provide. They were alone, together, and safe. No one was around to interrupt or intrude and the only noise they could hear was the steady rhythm of each others' hearts.

"Are you alright?" Shousha asked quietly. He had made his move to brush away her hair a few moments ago, yet his hand had stopped, knuckles lingering just a breath away from her cheekbone. He was staring at her so intently, she didn't know what else to say.

He couldn't back away, and he most certainly couldn't keep his gaze from her. He was spellbound, hypnotized. He had noticed it all when they had met again, how much she had grown and he had realized shortly after how badly he wanted her.

They wouldn't be able to pretend anymore, not after what she had said. Gone were the days of laughing off displays of affection. There would be no hiding behind excuses, no more _she's my best friend_.

He wouldn't deny himself anymore, or at least not completely. She had, after all, opened herself to him. He had stopped himself before, but he had only been a child then, sixteen years old. He had wanted so badly to hold her in his arms, just to see what it would be like. But he had not made any attempt, convincing himself she would reject him and he was not the type of boy she should be with anyway.

Now that he was a man, he felt even less worthy, but things were different. _She_ had made the first move. She wanted him too. He couldn't believe it.

Taking a step closer to her, closing the distance between them, he moved his hand to the back of her neck, guiltily taking pleasure in her darkening blush. With his other hand, he cupped her chin, tilting it up ever so slightly.

"I'm fine," he breathed, lips just inches from her own, which parted into a small 'o' of surprise. Shousha found her feet rooted to the ground then, and as her heart began to thump louder and faster, she found herself at a loss for thought.

When he pressed his mouth to hers, she went weak. Though her knees failed her, he was there, as always. He stepped forward and the hand on her chin moved to her back where he supported her weight as he tilted her back, deepening the kiss with genuine grace and charm.

The adrenaline that shot through Shousha's body at that moment was something she had never experienced before. This wasn't fear, and it certainly wasn't light flirtation. Never in her life had she imagined something so simple as a kiss could be so powerful. Fearing for her balance, she brought her arms around his shoulders, clinging to him.

When he pulled away, his face was slightly flushed and he looked almost embarrassed, but he made no effort to straighten and walk away.

"I'm sorry, Shou-chan," he said, slightly sheepish. "I really don't know what came over me."

That was lie. He wasn't sorry.

Looking up at him, still leaning backwards and holding onto him, it took her a few moments to gather enough thoughts to form into words. She wanted him to do that again. She wanted to lose herself in his arms, but how did one go about requesting such a thing?

"We should go upstairs," she told him, surprising herself at how sultry her tone had sounded. She hadn't meant to sound suggestive, but as the moment dictated, it was the only sort of sound her voice was willing to make.

It was all Okita had needed to hear. Grabbing her hand, he tore from the bath house, a still slightly dazed Shousha in tow. There was a tightening in his abdomen as well as his groin and though he was thinking with all the wrong parts of his body, for this one time, he didn't care.

When they reached the main house, he couldn't resist. He pushed her up against the wall and with both of his hands on her face, crushed his mouth against hers. This time, she responded, closing her eyes and bringing her hands up around his neck. Her fingers found their way into his hair, squeezing as she pulled him closer. Involuntarily, her chest rose, as her back arched and she moaned softly against him.

When his tongue begged entrance to her parted lips, she welcomed him graciously. She sighed, raising her hips up, and took his bottom lip between her teeth.

She was acting on instinct.

She was driving him wild.

"Oh _Shousha_," he groaned, tearing himself away and continuing on through the halls.

But she didn't want to be apart from him. When she spun him around, she captured his lips again. With one hand around her waist and the other groping at the walls, he made his way to the staircase. Though she was clumsy and inexperienced, his impeccable footwork kept them from ever tumbling to the ground.

There were two men on the stairs and while they gave a few whistles and hoots of encouragement to their captain, they went unnoticed by the two lovers who could think of nothing but their own passion. A door slid open then and as Okita groped for his, still unaware of his surroundings, Tokio stared in solid shock.

When he finally managed to open it, and he fell into the room with Shousha, Tokio slammed the shouji shut, pressing her back against it, breathing heavily into the dark and quiet room that she secretly kept.

"What's going on out there?" Saitou asked lazily, preparing the bed for her. As her mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, he shot her an annoyed glance. "Spit it out, woman!"

"I-it's O-Okita-ta-s-san," she stammered, "a-and Sh-Sh-Shousha."

Understanding, he swept her up into his arms.

"It was bound to happen," he said, "Okita has needs too."

Letting out a small yelp of surprise, she looked at him with wildly concerned eyes. "But you should have seen what they were _doing!_"

Saitou smiled, setting her down. "Tokio, I do believe you witnessed the beginning of a ravishing."

xxxx

Pressing Shousha up against the wall, Okita had his hands firmly on her waist. Her own hands were thrust deep into his hair, fingers entangled in the silky strands. As he kissed her pulse, she let out such a filthy noise that he couldn't help but grin against her skin. The deviant in him wanted to keep her up all night as payback for the nights that Harada's women had kept _him_ up all night.

"Oh _Ta-chan," _she moaned, tilting her neck, inviting him to do his worst. It was cute, he thought, how in her moment of passion she resorted to nicknames.

He obliged, grinding his hips against hers, damning the clothing that stood between them. She let out a gasp and he muttered an apology. Had he been too rough? He hadn't meant it.

"Please," she begged as he teased her collarbone with his tongue, "Take me. _I'm yours_."

Abruptly, he stopped. With all the willpower of the world, he pulled his lower body away from hers, gripping her shoulders tightly. He dropped his forehead to her shoulder so she couldn't see him clench his jaw. His heart was pounding, his head was reeling, and his body was aching-all for her.

But she wasn't his to take.

"I can't," he ground out.

"Why not," she whimpered, wiggling against him. There was a heat at her core, a painful, yet blissful tug in her most womanly parts that cried out for him. She didn't know what it was she wanted so badly, but she was almost certain that if she didn't get it, she might explode.

He bit down hard on his lip, drawing blood. He had to come to his senses, take some control of the situation. What was he intending to do? Did he actually believe he could have made love to her?

Yes. He did. For one moment of overflowing sexual frustration he had honestly believed she could have been his entirely, exclusively. Forever.

Still, as many moments as they might have, they would always end and they would both have to face the cruel truth.

"You are not mine to have," he told her.

"I am!" she cried, clawing at his back, trying desperately to pull him closer, "I'm yours! I always have been, and I always will be! Please. _Please._"

But he only stepped back, letting his hands drop from her body as he looked up at her, smiling a half-smile. Lust fading, she exhaled, finding her footing and straightening her back. She knew what he meant.

Damn his honor.

"You mean my husband," she whispered.

"Affianced," he corrected.

Shousha scoffed. As if it made a difference. "Right. Affianced."

They could play all they wanted, but when push came to shove, her parents still had one thing on her. She had pretended she could escape it when she ran away, but a contract was a contract. Someday she would marry a man she didn't love. A man she had only met once, when she was four years old.

A man she _hated_.

"Who is he?" Okita asked. "What is his name? I need to know the man that I'll be losing you to."

Shousha wondered how he even knew about her betrothed. She had never told him, not even in their childhood. That first night spent together, after her escape, he had even questioned her about marriage. Had he known then? Was he feigning ignorance as well? Worse yet, she shuddered internally, how much did he know?

"I don't know," she lied. "I've never met him."

He saw in her eyes that she wasn't being truthful, but he didn't press the issue. It was her future after all.

She offered him a smile. "Maybe he's dead, Ta-chan."

But he saw that lie too. Her fiance was alive and for whatever reason she had, she was playing ignorant to the entire situation as if by pretending it didn't exist, perhaps it wouldn't. He couldn't blame her. He wanted it to disappear just as badly. Perhaps if she would only say who-but no. Even if he had a clue as to who this mystery man was, Shinsengumi code prohibited him from killing for personal gain.

He sighed, taking her hand in his and guiding her down to the floor. He hadn't wanted the night to end this way. He was living life to protect her, not to hurt her, yet he seemed to be doing much more of the latter.

"I'm not sorry," he told her, looking at her directly, "and I fully intend to fight for you."

He couldn't protect her with the truth because it was exactly that which he was required to protect her from. So he would enter her fairy tale world. He would push aside her fate and love her in every way that didn't involve deflowering her. He could do it, he could make it work.

He could make her happy.

Shousha's eyes lit up then. "You mean it?"

He nodded, smiling excitedly as she brought herself up to her knees, she threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. He steadied himself with his palm against the tatami and laughed. This was the Shousha he knew.

This was the woman he loved.

xxxx

**Author's Note:** I know that we're in the middle of a rockin' Bakumatsu piece here, but I do believe that I will be starting a new fic as well. I've been getting inspired for scenes for the new one as regularly as this re-write, so keep your eyes out for some Okita/Shousha AU action. :)


	11. Freedom

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs

**Changes in Friendship**

_Chapter Eleven_

As the late morning turned to afternoon, the lazy rays of sun entered through the window, offering only the theory of warmth. It was late November now and though the chill was in the air, Tokio was snuggled up under the covers, toes scrunched up as she brought her knees to her chest,

stretching her muscles to welcome the day.

She didn't want to open her eyes. She wanted to lay in bed, thinking about anything at all, but fooling her body into thinking she was still asleep.

_Keep resting_, she told it, _it's not every day you have a day off_.

"Mmmmm" was her own satisfied response. She was so relaxed. Today, she would take on the world. After all, she never had a day off.

Her eyes snapped open.

She _never _had a day off.

Panic slammed into her gut as she scrambled out of bed. How could he do this to her? It had to be nearing one o'clock by now, maybe twelve thirty if time was generous. She had overslept at least six hours and there was no way that had gone unnoticed.

In her half-daze, she looked around the room, trying to find her coat. She couldn't, and realizing that it would just be better to get home, she flew from the room.

Down the hall she ran. He bare feet padded hurriedly against the wooden stairs and when she rounded the corner to the main hallway, she found it bustling with men. Crossing her arms over her chest, Tokio felt fully awake now, fully aware, and fully afraid. What had she been thinking trying to run out the front door like this?

The buzz of passing conversation slowed as attention started to drift her way. Some recognized her from her lunch date, and all of them were eyeing her with humor. There was one pair of humorous eyes that she was glad to see.

"Tokio!" Harada called out, making his way over to her and giving her his best dashing smile. He stopped in front of her, his lanky form shielding her much smaller one from sight.

"What're you doing in your nightclothes?"

Hopping lightly from one foot to the other as she had just woken up and suddenly had the overwhelming need to pee, Tokio leaned forward.

"I just woke up," she whispered in a slight whine.

Harada scratched his head, "Well yeah but you should get dressed before you come over, yanno."

Tokio let out a hiss. "No. I mean I _just_ woke up." She made a slight jabbing gesture towards the ceiling.

"Oh.." He let his eyes wander to her tousled hair, and bare feet before letting his mind wander elsewhere. "So Saitou's been holdin' out on us, has he? Sly bastard."

She stopped her dance of urinary prevention for a brief second to kick him in the shin. "That is _not_ what's going on between us."

Harada let his head fall back and he dragged his hands over his face. "Are you serious? Don't tell me you ain't sharin' a bed because let me tell you something. All these virgins hanging around us is no good. We've got all these guys sleepin' in windows and it's really not good for us, yanno?"

Tokio raised an eyebrow. "Who's sleeping in a window?"

He only laughed at her and quickly brushed his knuckled over her cheek. "Really Tokio, it's chilly. You should really put some clothes on."

It would be difficult, she realized, to explain that she had no clothes. No, it wouldn't be hard to explain, it was just not a statement she wanted to utter in his presence. She knew what sort of man he was. He wasn't a bad man and he meant well, but his imagination was always working in high gear.

It was right then, when she was about to make a mad dash for the gate, weather be damned, when another figure sidled up to them.

"Yes, Takagi-san. You should get dressed."

She froze, half crouched, and as her heart began to pound furiously, her body began to flash with a sickly heat. She turned her head upwards, a stiff smile forced on her face,

"H-Hijikata-san" she laughed, though she really didn't find any humor in her current situation. "I can explain."

"That won't be necessary," came the voice of a third man.

Tokio kept her horrifyingly strained smile on her face, trying desperately to ignore how much trouble she was in (both here and at home), as well as her screaming bladder. Hajime was lucky she was trapped into formality otherwise she might very well have attempted to break his neck.

"I am responsible for her," Saitou said, grabbing hold of her arm, "I didn't except her to show her face."

As he led her away, she jabbed him in the ribs.

Hijikata stared after the two for a moment, bewildered that he had even witnessed such an event. It wasn't easy to catch him off his guard, but he had never known Saitou to keep any sort of woman other than a night or two at a tea house. Even more befuddling was that the cold and reserved man had chosen such an animated and, might he add, forceful woman as his companion.

It was no wonder he had kept her in secret.

"Why on earth did she come here in her nightclothes?"

"She was here all night."

Hijikata looked surprised for a fraction of a second. "How is that? I don't recall any of us seeing her come in."

Harada rubbed his chin. "She's a crafty one. I see her sometimes when we're out on patrol 'round 2 in the morning, so I guess she probably climbs in through the window."

"She can climb?"

"Probably scales the wall too, since we ain't never heard anything from any of the guards. Maybe we should put her to work, eh?"

The vice commander continued to stare ahead of him, still not sure how to process this insanity. "What a scary woman."

Harada clapped him on the back. "She's scary? What about you? Poor girl looked like she was about to pass out and you had barely said a word."

Turning away, Hijikata invited Harada to follow.

"Are you saying that I have a scary face?"

"No, but you sure as hell _make_ some scary faces and say some pretty scary things. They don't call you the demon of the Shinsengumi for nothin', yanno."

The corners of his lips turned up, ever so slightly. "Who might 'they' be?"

"Everyone," Harada replied flatly.

"I don't want any trouble, here Sanosuke. That is all."

xxxx

Tokio stomped after Saitou, fuming. She was dressed in one of Shousha's kimono and though any other day she would have killed to wear such finery, having had to explain herself to her friend (who had been ignorant of these on goings until now) had been mortifying.

She was now over eight hours late to report to the lady of the house and in her fury and panic, could not think of a suitable story as to why she had been missing, was dressed above her status, and had to be escorted home by a policeman.

It was all _his_ fault. He hadn't bothered to wake her. When she had pointed this out in a rather physical show of kicks and punches (to which he blocked expertly, eyes laughing at her the whole time), he had not even given her a reason as to why. _It didn't matter_, he had said, simply.

But there was nothing simple about this. Everything was rather complicated right now and Tokio was at a complete loss. If she were to be removed from the Yamata household, she would be out of decent work and her family would suffer for it.

Saitou had stopped, waiting for her to catch up and when she did, he took her arm. She should calm down.

"You've been employed at the Yamata house for quite some time now, haven't you?" he asked her absently.

She seethed.

"Ten years? Fifteen?"

"Five," she snapped. "I've been there five years and thanks to _you_, that will be all."

Saitou considered that. "Five years? Do houses generally hire adult women?"

This caught Tokio off guard and she looked at him curiously. "I was fourteen when Shousha found me."

He halted so abruptly that she tripped and her open palm was the only force that stopped her face from colliding with the road.

"_How_ old are you?" he demanded, not bothering to help her up.

Clapping her hands together to rid them of the dust, she straightened. "Nineteen," she replied before raising her head to level her gaze with him, "will that be a problem?"

"_Will_ it be a problem?" he snickered, "No. I'm merely surprised. You're nothing but a child."

He had been surprised at her age. She seemed so much older, much more mature. Naive, but still mature, especially in comparison to her foolish friend. What amused him, though, was her choice of words. She had asked him if it would be a problem. In the future. As angry as she was with him, she still intended to be seeing him again. How cute.

"I am hardly a child," she said, tossing her braid over her shoulder. Saitou noted that it was the first time he had seen her hair done so informally in public. When she came to him it was pulled back tightly into a bun, not a strand out of place. He wondered how intense her work must be in order for her to feel the need for such a stiff and boring style.

"You are a child," he repeated, pulling her forward again.

"I am well past the marrying age!" she protested.

He snorted. "That's ridiculous."

"But it's true."

He looked her way and gave her a half smirk. "If you were of this 'marrying age'," he told her, "I would never consider laying with you."

A faint blush graced her cheeks and she let out a small huff to hide it. "Why is that?"

"Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen. . . it's a ridiculous age full of frivolous daydreams and silly whims. What sort of man can take a girl like that seriously?"

"Many do," Tokio noted.

He looked down at her again, raising an eyebrow at her. "At fifteen what were you doing?"

She bit her lip. At fifteen, it hadn't taken her long to become friends with her new mistress and Saitou was right. She had been silly. She distinctly remembered crouching behind a doorframe with Shousha, watching as Kanako fumbled with a precious falling vase. Slingshot in hand she had giggled, encouraged by Shousha's excited whispers of _see if you can break it!_

"I see your point," she admitted, "but that doesn't make me any more of a child."

"Maybe not," he said, leading her up the steps into the house, "but your age still surprises me."

She let the subject drop as they stepped into the marble hall. Several servants that passed by shot her a disgusted glance and the butler looked down at her from his nose.

With everyone distracted by Tokio, Saitou took the opportunity to sweep his eyes across the room. He laid his vision on a remarkable statue of an elephant, no doubt from overseas. From the looks of it, it had been cast in solid gold. It was small enough to fit in the palm of his hand, but he assumed it had to be worth more money than he would ever see in a lifetime. Without thought, he swept it from its position on the table and deposited it into his sleeve.

"-and your state of dress is most unnerving," the butler was saying, making no expression with his face, or the inflection of his voice for that matter, but condescending a cutting all the same.

Saitou stepped in, grabbing Tokio's elbow roughly. "I will speak to the lady of the house," he said gruffly.

Having no reason to argue, the man disappeared into the depths of the house.

"What are you _doing?" _Tokio asked, panic rising. She struggled to free her arm from his hold but to no avail. He was much stronger than she was.

It was a matter of seconds before Kanako appeared, graceful smile donned upon her face. She stood before Saitou, bowing politely. Her eyes flickered to Tokio for a fraction of a second too small to go noticed by the untrained eye. Tokio's eyes, however, were well trained to watch for the lady's emotions and she saw the fury.

"To what do I owe this pleasure, sir?" Kanako asked lightly, "We have not had a Shinsengumi officer in our home in quite some time."

"No," he replied cooly, "I imagine you wouldn't have."

The reference to her and her husband's constantly wavering loyalty did not go unnoticed by anyone.

"I'm not here for politics," he went on, holding up Tokio's arm, "I found this in the market today. I believe she is yours."

Kanako pursed her lips. "Indeed."

Tokio twisted her head to look at the man she had grown to like so much. Would he betray her this quickly? Without reason?

"She was-" he paused to fish out the elephant and when he did so, presented it to Kanako, "trying to sell this."

Both Kanako and Tokio gasped loudly. The older woman had enough grace to keep herself under control, even if the rage she harbored was quickly making itself visible. Tokio, on the other hand, exploded.

"YOU LYING BASTARD!" She screamed, throwing a fist at his face. He caught it, squeezing it in his large palm. She kicked at him, just barely scraping his ankle with her toes. She fought against his hold, she gnashed her teeth, she even tried to head-butt him a few times. It wasn't until he raised his hand to strike her that she froze.

He wouldn't actually hit her, would he? Would he?

"Why are you doing this?" she whispered, trying to fight back tears.

Kanako stood in her silent fury, not trusting herself to speak. Eventually she did so.

"Tokio. You stole my daughter's clothing. You stole my possessions. You left my house without permission. Did you actually believe you could free your family of their burdens by resorting to thievery?"

Tokio's mouth opened slightly. She had nothing to say in her own defense. How could she? None of it was true. While she wanted to calmly and rationally explain the real facts, what actually spilled from her mouth left her rooted in her own horror.

"You don't have a daughter anymore."

Instantly, Kanako's hand raised and slapped her. She moved to strike again, but Saitou caught her by the wrist.

"I understand the seriousness of her crimes, Yamata-san," he began, "and I do believe that you should punish your servants as you see fit. However, because of the severity, I would like to take this wretch from your house and punish her myself."

The woman's hand relaxed and she let it drop to her side. "You don't want her. She came here a thief and a liar. She will only bring trouble."

Saitou bowed. "With all due respect, madam, I am here to serve this city and keep order. I will not accept the risk of a thief running about."

Tokio wasn't sure what would be worse: staying at this house and being beaten to within an inch of her life, or leaving and having to resort back to the life of a street urchin just to put food on the table. She had built up pride in being a respectable human being. She couldn't let it shatter just like that.

Through her miserable musings, she watched Saitou hand over a pouch of money and Kanako bow in thanks. Before she could register what was happening, she was being dragged from the house with little grace.

When they were in the street again and out of sight, Saitou pushed her away and her thoughts came together.

"_What_," she ground out. "_was that?"_

Saitou lit up a cigarette. That show had been a little more dramatic than he had originally intended.

"I just bought you."

"You just _what?_" Tokio shook her head furiously, mussing up her hair with her fingers in frustration. "Do you have any idea what you have just done? That job was my livelihood! My father's medicine! My brother's debt! My sister's food! And you-you just took that all away!"

She punched him and this time he didn't even try to stop her. She punched him again and he exhaled, watching the smoke drift off into the air.

"They are taken care of," he said simply.

She stopped, fist against his chest. What did he just say?

Furrowing her brow, she punched him again. "You can't just say that."

"They are," he assured them. "I have taken care of all their expenses and will continue to do so."

She looked up at him, eyes wide in question. "Why would you do that?"

He sighed, blowing out some more smoke into the sky. "Don't you understand, Tokio? You are a free woman now."

Tokio stood there dumbfounded. It had all been an act. Everything that had happened today was to ensure that he had the upper hand on Kanako. He hadn't forgotten to wake her. He hadn't neglected her. He had _let _her sleep. He had turned her into a thief so Kanako would hardly think twice about handing her over.

She looked down at the sleeves of the beautiful navy kimono she wore. Koi danced through it playfully as if they were celebrating in her place. Was this his plan too? Was it to enrage her former employer, or was it more personal? Had he made her borrow something of Shousha's because it was more convenient to borrow from a friend or did he wish to see her in such finery?

"I-I don't know what to say," she said quietly. "I can't just accept something this huge."

"I thought you might say that," he said, flicking some ash from the end of his cigarette, "which is why I have prepared a repayment plan for you."

He head snapped up to look at him. A repayment plan? Was he serious?

"I don't have any money, Hajime," she told him, "and it might take me some time to find some decent work."

He looked down at her, smirking the way he did when he knew he held all the right cards.

"I don't intend for you to work under someone else's whip, Tokio," he said, his tone rigid and businesslike, "I plan to make you my personal servant."

Her eyes widened and he saw a flash of anger. "Your _what_?"

"More specifically," he continued, holding her chin in his hand, coaxing her to soften her expression, "I intend to make you my wife."

xxxx

**Author's Note:**__Sorry this one took so long! I hope it was worth the wait. :


	12. Scandal

_**Disclaimer**__: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs_

**Changes in Friendship**

_Chapter Twelve_

Tokio stared up at the man before her. How arrogant he was! His _wife_? Or perhaps it was a cruel joke. Did he think she was so enamored with him that she would be overjoyed and he could pull the cloud out from under her? Maybe this was his final blow. He had pulled all the right strings, played all the right cards, and he had come out on top. He owned her.

She wanted to be mad. She wanted to give him a piece of her mind. She would punch him harder this time, slap him across the face twice, no, three times. Scream at him, pull his hair, knee him in the groin.

But she didn't.

Instead, her hands betrayed her and they reached up to rest on either side of his face, feeling the stubble that was beginning to sprout. An image flashed before her and she was behind him holding a towel, watching as he ran a blade across his angular features. He must look so handsome grooming himself, she thought.

Though her mind was reeling and begging her to run away, be free from this madman, her body shut it out. He hadn't reacted to her touch, but he hadn't swatted her away either. Taking that as an invitation, Tokio raised herself up onto her toes, thankful that he was leaning down to her. When she closed her eyes, bracing herself, she let out an amused laugh.

"I hate you," she breathed, kissing him gently.

Much to her surprise, he went rigid. She almost pulled back, thinking she might have done something wrong. She assumed she must look quite awkward, lips pressed up against his own in the most chaste manner. In their three months of secret meetings, he had only touched her that one time and they had never shared so much as a kiss between them.

Shock rippled throughout Saitou's entire body. Tokio was a bold and daring woman, but he had never imagined her to be _this_ bold or daring. Even more than his quickly fading surprise, there was the matter of control. They were in the middle of the road where people were milling about. He couldn't go about kissing her back now could he?

Yes, he could.

Dropping his hand from her face, he swept one arm around her, using his forearm to draw her in closer to him and at the same time, encouraging her lips to part. If nothing else, this was the reason he needed her to be his wife. Before the duties of marriage, most women were ignorant of a need for physical satisfaction, relying instead on their emotions. Men, on the other hand, were a much simpler breed.

Pulling her into a narrow street, he pinned her against a wall, dominating her mouth with his own. His tongue snaked between her teeth and as he pulled her legs up around his hips, she let out a soft cry.

He needed her. He needed her beneath him, on top of him, around him- it didn't matter how, where, or when. Three months of celibacy was _enough_.

But then, he thought, teasing her neck and alternating between gentle nips and hungry suckling, she was the lowest of the low. A beggar child who got lucky. Now she had even lost her status as a maid. Was it really necessary to marry the chit?

"_Hajime,_" she pleaded as he ground himself against her.

Yes, he had to. She drove him crazy and he knew that his attraction to her was much more than physical. He was suffering from a terrible and incurable disease and she could ease the symptoms. She was the solution to the monotony, his own personal wrinkle in the starched fabric of life and he wanted all of her. He wanted her laughter, her tears. He craved her rage and her passion. He longed to see her succeed, and to be her strength when she failed. He was willing to be young and reckless with her, and looked forward to growing wrinkled and gray at her side.

Most importantly, the thought of her with anyone else caused his blood to boil.

She was clawing at his back now, fistfuls of fabric gathering and falling from her hands in sporadic and jerky motions. He moved his hands from her hips to her round buttocks, using his new grasp as leverage to move her against his hardening length. Her head lolled onto his shoulder as he rubbed himself against her quickly dampening center.

"Hajime," she panted, feeling herself growing warm all over, "we can't."

He ignored her, shifting her weight onto one of his large hands while the other burrowed into the small space between them, searching for her lapels. When he found them and dove in, cupping one of her supple breasts, she shuddered against him.

The cry that he heard next, was not one of pleasure. It had also not been made by Tokio, who was busy alternating between soft pants and sensual whimpers as she squirmed against him.

Instantly, he backed away from her, whipping his attention to a spot several feet away from them where a girl stood with an elderly man. Though Saitou knew very well (despite his irritation) they could walk away and think fondly on the memory later, he saw the color drain from Tokio's face. He knew that look; women used it often. She was realizing what she had just (almost) done, and then, when it sank in, a crimson hue covered all of her features.

Humiliation.

Saitou had no care either way but Tokio began to feel ill. She would never see these people again, but it didn't matter. They had been _seen_. They had been caught doing something so crude and filthy that it was only allowed to be done at home, in the bedroom, between a married couple. That's what she had been told.

Yet she had so easily fallen to the snares of sin. So _willingly_.

In _public._

With a hand over her mouth, she turned to walk away, but her legs were like rubber and her steps were both watery and forced. Not even bothering to acknowledge their intruders, Saitou straightened her kimono, then took her arm to steady her.

"Don't even think about running from me now, woman," he warned.

Even if she wanted to leave his side (she didn't) she wouldn't have been able to. Her grip on the fabric of his haori had long since turned her knuckles white, and in turn, the hand he clasped over hers was too strong for her to break from.

"Let's go home," he murmured, taking purposefully long strides away from the crowd that was looking upon them curiously. Tokio scurried desperately to keep up with his pace, and her ever tightening grip on his arm gave him a sense of satisfaction.

"Home?" she echoed.

"Yes, home," he replied, slowing when they reached a more dense area of the city, "you have been sleeping at the dojo every night whether I am there with you or not. Would you not consider it your home as well as mine?"

He had here there. She thought for a moment that she would say no. It wasn't home because she didn't do any of her living there. But then again, she hadn't done much living at the Yamata house either. She had slept at the dojo, worked at Yamata house, and hadn't stepped foot into her father's house in almost a year. Could she even say she had any home?

"I didn't ever think of it as my home," she told him, barely sidestepping a drunk who had collapsed some time ago and sprawled himself across the street.

"Then perhaps you should start," came his curt reply.

She found herself smiling then. He was such an interesting man, unable to show any sort of sentiment, but still making a point to go out of his way to prove that he cared. He had told her that he had no intentions of treating her like a real lady, yet here he was, determined to marry her. She had never done anything for him that a wife might; any time not sleeping had been spent working, or tossing playful banter around with him, so why was he so convinced she would be able to please him?

But then, did she even _want_ to be with him for the rest of her life?

Tokio scoffed aloud. What a silly thing to ask. Of course she did. He may not have been the gentle romantic that Okita was or a charming casanova like Harada, but she was not the type of girl who felt a need for gentility or charm. Before meeting the wolf, Tokio had never considered what type of man might make her heart pound wildly. She had been convinced that she would never marry and had been content in that thought.

But now. . .

She fully realized what she wanted. She wanted to be challenged. Maybe it was because she had spent most of her life fighting and clawing for survival in the unforgiving streets of Kyoto. Perhaps it was her pride, unable to take anything for free, that made her feel the need to earn this man's affections. Or maybe it was much simpler than that. Maybe she didn't need a reason to want him.

Maybe that was just how love worked.

xxxx

After depositing Tokio off with the rest of the women, Saitou swept the halls in search of Okita. It wasn't often that he felt the need to divulge information about his personal life, but his frustration was near boiling over and he knew that his friend would be able to keep him under control if the situation called for it, which, right now, it most certainly did.

On the tail end of his search, he came across Kondo, who, upon seeing him, called him over.

"I've been looking for you, Saitou," he said, his tone showing hints of warming.

Saitou said nothing, but gave his leader his full attention.

"I have received a rather disturbing complaint," he began, though his face showed no real signs of distress. "that you were seen compromising a young woman today. Takagi-san, I'm assuming."

Keeping his face devoid of expression, Saitou nodded. It wasn't in him to lie to his superior. "That would be correct, sir."

Kondo's eyes seemed to be laughing at him, even though Saitou knew very well that he would be chastised, if not punished for his lack of control. He cursed to himself. Any punishment Kondo was going to dish out, he would take, but the thought of what sort of gossip would be floating around already left a nasty taste in his mouth.

"And was this woman an active participant of this incident?"

"Please do not punish her for my wrongdoings, sir."

To this, Kondo chuckled. "I just wanted to be sure that you were not _forcing_ yourself on such a helpless young lady."

Saitou narrowed his eyes. "She is neither helpless nor a lady."

Kondo clapped a hand on the taller man's shoulder. "Regardless Saitou," he said, "the next time you feel the need to satisfy your urges, please be sure there are four walls around you, or-" he tugged on his sleeve, turning his attention to the white mountains that trimmed the bright blue, "leave your colors at home."

Satisfied with his reprimanding, Kondo gave Saitou's shoulder one final pat, and turned away.

"Patrol in half an hour, Satiou. Prepare yourself."

Okita rounded the corner then and before he even had a chance to offer a greeting, Saitou grabbed a fistful of his clothing and dragged him into the nearest room.

"Goodness, Saitou-san," Okita laughed as the door shut behind them, "I understand you were unable to satisfy yourself with Takagi-san, but I assure you, you'll have a difficult time getting _my_ clothes off."

So they were already talking. Fantastic.

"Do you understand what I have done?"

Okita shrugged. "Things happen, Saitou-san. Takagi-san is a very beautiful and charming woman. I'm surprised you have been able to keep yourself in check this long."

"And what of you?" Saitou shot back. "You make abstinence seem so trivial."

"Was she that badly traumatized, Saitou-san?" he teased back, "that you feel the need to protect her from yourself?"

His playfulness was met with an annoyed glance and crossed arms so Okita softened his expression.

"If it is Takagi-san you want, it is Takagi-san you should take," he told his friend solemnly. "She has put herself through a lot to be with you. I don't think restraint is the answer here."

Saitou sighed, irritated, but Okita only shook his head, laughing.

"If it is your reputation you are concerned about, I'm afraid this situation might be an improvement. You're a rather sour fellow."

"Sour?"

"Bitter?" Okita offered.

"Bitter."

"Unapproachable, moody, uptight, aloof, unfriendly-" he gave his friend a playful grin. "I could go on."

"Don't confuse me with Hijikata," Saitou warned.

Okita held up his hands and let out a small giggle, "Oh that's almost impossible, Saitou-san. Your show of moodiness if quite constant and expected. Hijikata-san doesn't show any emotion at all."

Deciding that he wasn't going to get very far with Okita poking fun at him, Saitou decided to resolve his inner conflict the best way he knew how. It was almost time for patrol. He was going to shed some blood.

xxxx

"Oh Tokio!" Shousha cried, hugging her friend's neck tightly. "What are you doing here?"

Tokio patted Shousha's back awkwardly. She still wasn't sure how to explain her presence and word hadn't gotten around to the women yet, which was surprising since most of the gossip stemmed from them.

"I'm staying here now," she finally settled on, "with you."

Pulling back, Shousha searched her face. "That's a lie," she stated. "How can you stay here with me if I'm staying here with Soushi? You've been away far too long to use that excuse," she finished, wagging her finger.

Tokio flushed. "I-I-"

"It's _him_, isn't it?" Shousha prodded dreamily, "You've fallen in love."

"Oh it's not like that!" she protested, gaining the attention of every other woman in the room. Simultaneously their faces erupted into mischievous grins.

"But wasn't it you that Saitou-san had been hiding in his room all this time?"

Shousha shook her head. "Incredible, Tokio. How did you get away with it?"

"I was quiet-"

"No," Shousha interrupted, "I mean today. How did you. . ._survive_?"

_Oh,_ Tokio thought. _That._

"I quit," she replied, though Shousha's doubting glance had her squirming and she was beginning to regret becoming so close to her. They knew each other far too well to get away with lies.

"Was let go?" she tried again.

Shousha looked at her in solid deadpan and Tokio stomped her foot.

"Fine! He rescued me!" she cried, throwing her hands up. "He treated me like a criminal and _bought_ my freedom."

There was a collective gasp and Tokio was even afraid the truth might have been too difficult for even Shousha, master of trickery and lover of scandals, to handle. Her hands had come up over her mouth and her eyes were so wide, Tokio debated the best plan of evasiveness if they were to come popping out of her head.

As her hands came down and she learned how to blink again, Tokio cringed. Nothing good could come of this.

"That is. . ."

All the women leaned forward.

"That is. . ."

Tokio felt herself slinking backwards as Shousha tried to gather her thoughts into words.

"That is. . . so_ Romantic!" _

The sigh of relief that came from Tokio's mouth then could have knocked down the entire dojo with all the breath she had been holding. It had dizzied her and she grasped for Shousha's elbow to keep herself steady. Today certainly was a terrible day for balance.

"Of course, _I_ think he's an ass," she continued, before patting Tokio's hand affectionately, "but if you are happy, then I am happy for you."

The animosity and annoyance that sparked constantly between Shousha and Saitou was something that Tokio had not considered. Would she be able to spend her time with a man who berated her only friend constantly? Or likewise, how would their friendship fare if and when Tokio began to side with her lover?

It was best not to dwell on such things.

Shousha had already moved on from the point and when she tugged on Tokio's arm to lead her towards the kitchen, the ex-maid found herself having missed several introductions from the other ladies in the room.

When she was seated again, peeling potatoes for the night's supper, she contemplated what exactly she would do with her time now that it was her own. She was to do his bidding, he had told her, but when he was out or had no use for her, she was to assist in the duties of the other wives. Other than that, she could do as she pleased.

It took her some time to decipher, but she finally settled on her first activity of freedom.

"Shousha," she said to her friend who was moving through the potatoes as a speed that Tokio found rather frightening. She was bound to lose a finger that way.

Shousha stopped, half-peeled potato in hand, knife in the other. Her thoughts had been so hurried, it seemed that her pace had decided to follow suit and when she noticed her pile of the root, she was surprised at it's size.

"Uh, sorry, what was that?"

Tokio smiled. "I said I think I will take Hajime to meet my family tomorrow. Would you and Okita-san be interested in joining?"

A devilish grin crept up across Shousha's features then and before she could think better of it, Tokio mirrored her expression.

"I would hate to miss that," she said quietly, "should we alert your father?"

"Oh no," Tokio replied slyly, "we can surprise him."

If Saitou wanted to own her, then so be it. Though he had assumed that by paying off her family, they would feel indebted and forever grateful, both girls cackled with delight, knowing that the real surprise wouldn't lie in the wolves, but the peasant man and his children.

Who had the upper hand now?

xxxx

**Author's Note:** Really, these two are too much fun. :3

I've got my new AU Okita/Shousha fic up for your reading pleasure, if AU is your thing. you fear, there will be plenty of Saitou/Tokio as well as Katsura, Battousai, and of course, Iizuka :)

Check it out, yo!

Thanks for reading; see you soon


	13. Proposal

_**Disclaimer**__: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs_

**Changes in Friendship**

_Chapter Thirteen_

"I won't do it."

Katsura Kogoro stared ahead at the young man sitting before him. He had never rejected any of his orders before yet he found himself to be only slightly surprised.

"And why not?" he asked, the smallest bit of mocking in his voice, "You've never disobeyed me before."

"I never questioned your judgement." came the redhead's curt reply.

Katsura was amused by this. Himura Kenshin, more commonly known to their enemies as Battousai, was still just a child. Defiance was bound to come up sooner or later.

"But you question me now?"

"I kill for justice, yet you are sitting here and asking me to take the life of an innocent woman."

Katsura rubbed his chin. "Can you be so sure she is an innocent?"

"Perhaps not," replied Battousai, "but before your request I had only heard her name in passing gossip. I have faith that she is no threat to us."

Faith. What an interesting term.

"Then perhaps you'd know that she currently resides in Okita's bed."

Battousai stood abruptly and a dark shadow came over his face. Katsura watched with interest. He had angered him.

"The type of man a woman takes as a lover can not classify her as a criminal."

To this, Katsura smiled. "But wouldn't you say that a woman who lives to ease the pain of a sinner bears his burdens and becomes a sinner herself?"

Battousai's eyes flashed amber. "No. I wouldn't."

"Very well," replied his leader calmly.

"Furthermore," the assassin continued, "to use a woman against a man whose weakness you cannot find is a move of cowardice. I pray that is not your motive, Katsura-san."

There were not many men who dared go against his will or give him any sort of reprimanding, and Himura generally was no exception. He was loyal and he kept to himself. Had he been anyone else, the leader might not have paid much attention to him.

The more Katsura found he couldn't quite figure him out, the more he wanted to. The boy was the strongest killer they had-their trump card-but he was still just a boy. There was an innocence about him, even in his cold and aloof nature. Katsura wondered if he had ever felt the love of a woman.

Himura left the room and when Katsura stood, walking towards the deck, he stared outside into the bright day. He hated days like these. The sun shone so brightly, and the birds flitted about, yet the air was frigid. It was such a tease.

Iizuka sidled up next to him, having overheard the entire exchange, and let out a low whistle.

"Himura turned you down?"

Katsura didn't even bother to act surprised. "I know of another man to use," he said plainly.

"I have no doubt that you do," the examiner replied, giving a little chuckle. "You always seem to know a guy."

There was silence for a few moments and Iizuka wondered, as he often did, what exactly his leader was thinking. He had never met a man more difficult to read, never met a man more vague, cryptic, and guarded.

Though the stress of bad news weighed on his shoulders, he never faltered or showed any signs of weariness. If something bothered him, he dismissed it lightly, and when things went awry, he would sigh and shake his head.

But what was he _thinking_?

"Do you really plan to provoke them like that?"

Katsura turned his attention towards Iizuka, still half lost in his decided disappointment towards the day's weather.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Okita," Iizuka clarified. "He's a sleeping wolf right now and not one that I'd be too keen on waking."

"None of the wolves are sleeping, Iizuka," Katsura mused.

_Vague._

"Still," Iizuka pressed, "Isn't it easier to let them think they're 'keeping the peace' than to give them a legitimate reason to come after us?"

Katsura looked up at the sky. "I try to convince myself that the decision I have made is for good reason: an impressive, if yet underhanded trick," he paused, shaking his head and sighing, "but in the end, my motives are entirely self serving."

_Cryptic._

_ "_Sir?"

"My battle is not with the Shinsengumi this time," he said, "more specifically, despite what you and Himura were no doubt thinking, my battle is not with Okita."

Iizuka made an impatient gesture with his hands.

"My battle is with her."

The examiner let out a snort of laughter. "And what great injustice has this fallen member of society inflicted upon you?"

Katsura stared straight ahead, displaying no hint of emotion, no sign that he was even slightly morally at odds with himself over this.

"Ah, that is the cruelty of it all."

_Guarded._

xxxx

Saitou and Shousha sat on a bench on the side of the road. There was a noticeable gap between their bodies and Shousha's knees were pointed ever so slightly away from his own. Tokio had requested they make a stop to pick up gifts for her family while Okita had taken the opportunity to refill his prescription under the cover that several of his men had been suffering from headaches.

Saitou had not wanted to be pestered by Tokio's 'do you think they would like this?' and 'what would you choose?' so he had decided to sit this one out. Shousha had stubbed her toe earlier that morning and was grateful for the opportunity to stop walking for a bit. This had left the two of them in a rather uncomfortable situation.

Shousha shifted slightly, scooting a couple centimetres away from the man and he turned to look down at her.

"Do you hate me so much that you can't sit next to me for a few minutes?" he asked bitterly.

"I'm _afraid_ of you," she corrected. She didn't mind admitting to it; it was common knowledge.

He smirked at this, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. "Would you like to know what I fear?" he asked, taking a long drag and exhaling silently, "to level the playing field, one might say."

She crossed her arms. "No."

He flicked some ash onto the sleeve of her gold and ivory kimono. "That's too bad. Here I was being kind and you're still going to act like a child."

Shousha scowled at him. She did not understand how Tokio could stand being around such a condescending man. Still, he had spoke of fearing something. Surely she could use it against him at some point, right?

"You're curious."

"I am _not_," she huffed, shoving his hand away as he again made a move to use her as his personal ashtray.

"It's written all over your face, you stupid girl," he said, taking pleasure in watching a vein appear on her forehead. It was far too easy to get her riled up.

"Fine," she snapped, crossing her arms again. "Tell me."

"Ask nicely," he ordered mildly, taking another drag.

Frustration growing, Shousha gripped the silk on her knees and squeezed. Hard. If she didn't give him a good slap just once, she might explode. Really, just one. She didn't though, because her fear at what he might do to her in return was so terrifying it almost overshadowed her anger.

"_What_," she ground out, "Do you fear, Saitou?"

He looked at her, amused, and though he had the good grace to turn his head before blowing out the smoke, he turned back to her, his smile as slick and sly as ever.

"Nothing at all."

_Bastard_, she thought.

He saw the irritation on her face and he dropped the cigarette, ending its life with his foot.

"In all seriousness, Shousha, I have something to ask you."

Her face wavered slightly, but she kept her arms crossed and her body on edge. "What on earth would give you a reason to hold a conversation with me?"

"I would like to know what to expect today," he replied simply. "What type of family does Tokio come from?"

It was such an honest question, Shousha was left feeling slightly off balance. There was no mockery in his voice, no slick undertones, no bared teeth. She could use this. She _would_ use this.

Taking the opportunity to re-shift her position, she faced him, staring up at him directly for the first time since meeting him.

"After the way you treat me you honestly expect me to help you?" she asked, giving a small scoff.

"The way I treat you?" he echoed in question

"You are _not_ nice to me."

Saitou let out a short bark of laughter. "I am not a nice man."

This was very true, Shousha noted. He wasn't a nice man. She suddenly noticed that he had not picked her out in particular. He had not decided to hate her (even if he did); it was just his way. He may have harbored slightly more distaste for her because of her parents, and possibly a small amount of jealousy due to her closeness to Okita, but she could have been anyone.

Deciding that she wouldn't be able to have a one up on him unless she replied, she smiled sweetly at him.

"Tokio's father is a very traditional man, so you will do well to mind your manners in his house."

Saitou considered this for a moment. Traditional, huh? That seemed simple enough. He had been raised on harsh manners himself, though some might consider the outcome to be debatable, and he was confident that he would be able to make it through these next few hours with little worry.

Not that he was worried.

When the group was assembled at the door of Tokio's house (though shack might have been more appropriate) a neighbor waved to Tokio, calling out to her.

"You go on ahead," she said, nudging Saitou and Okita into the house while she and Shousha stepped a couple feet over to chat with the young woman who was hanging out her laundry.

The two men stepped into the entryway, not having time to knock as Tokio pushed them and before them, barefoot on the cold dirt floor, was a young girl who couldn't have been a day over eight. Her eyes widened and the small tray that she was holding on her hands clattered to the ground.

"Mitsu!" came the cry of a man, seated under a blanket in the middle of the room, "get behind me!"

The girl did as she was told, hiding behind the man and burying her face in his back. A makeshift crutch lay on the floor and the man grabbed it, brandishing at the figures in his doorway.

"What do you want?" he demanded, doing his best to hide the fear in his voice, "We have nothing here for you. Let us be!"

Okita and Saitou looked at each other for a moment, confused, but the man pulled a small pouch of money from beneath the blanket and threw it at their feet.

"Is that what you want, wolves?" he snarled, "Take it!"

Luckily for them, at that moment, Tokio squeezed her way between their bodies, launching herself into the house. Shousha was right behind her, mimicking her excited entrance.

"Papa!" Tokio cried, throwing her arms around the man. Shousha also joined in this display of affection. Both Saitou and Okita raised their brows in surprise. Her father? The man there didn't look yet forty and they were both aware that Tokio had an elder brother.

"Tokio, Shousha. Get behind me. There are dangerous men here. You shouldn't have come."

But the girls only laughed at him.

"Dangerous?" Shousha asked, pulling Okita forward and mushing his face with her hands, "Does he look dangerous to you?"

His expression softened then and he regarded Okita with relief. "So it's you."

Okita smiled, looking around for an indication of how he was to respond. Shousha was nodding to Tokio's father and laced her fingers with his, confirming that Okita was indeed 'him.'

The man on the floor smiled genuinely. "You found him at last. I am glad."

Okita bowed. "Takagi-san."

But Tokio's father frowned then. "While I am pleased to finally meet the infamous 'Ta-chan', I find myself disappointed."

Okita looked up. "Sir?"

"You're. . .so small."

To this, the captain forced out a smile. "It is very advantageous, Takagi-san," he said carefully, trying not to allow any annoyance to show. "I am very agile."

But Takagi had already moved on. He motioned to Saitou. "You. What's your story?"

Saitou stepped forward, kneeling before him and bowed so low that Okita began to feel uncomfortable. What business did Saitou have humbling himself before this pauper?

Shousha snickered.

"Are you mocking me, son?" Takagi's crutch came down hard on the back of Saitou's head, but he barely flinched. "Get up or get out of my house! I will not be made a fool in front of my children."

Saitou raised his head and as he caught a glimpse of Shousha doubled over in silent laughter, he felt his temperature rise. He had been played.

He cleared his throat. "My apologies."

Tokio brushed the curious act aside and took his elbow. "Father. May I present to you Saitou Hajime, the man responsible for my freedom."

Takagi rubbed his chin. So this was the man he was indebted to. He wasn't much to look at: too sharp featured and mean looking, but he had for whatever reason decided that _his_ daughter deserved to live a life above that of a servant.

Motioning for his younger daughter to fetch them tea, he gestured for Saitou to sit, and he inhaled deeply.

"Are you hear to collect my gratitude?" he asked curiously.

"Of sorts," Saitou replied.

Mitsu arrived with the tea set, old, cracked, and barely holding up against the late autumn chill. She smiled politely, setting it down and while Tokio moved to pour, Mitsu presented Shousha with what looked to be the remains of a stuffed doll.

"I won't grovel before you," Takagi said plainly, as he accepted his tea from his eldest daughter. "No one asked you to fund us."

"I don't expect you to."

"Then what do you want?"

Saitou looked at him directly. "I desire you daughter, Takagi."

Pretending to find this amusing, the older man smiled, raising his eyes to the wolf. "And what are your intentions, Saitou-san?"

Saitou flicked his gaze over to the corner of the pathetic house where Shousha and Okita sat, playing with the little girl. He watched as they laughed with her, sneaking gentle touches and playful glances at each other.

Love. Happiness. It came so naturally for them, as if the world knew from the moment they were born that the should be together. Life wasn't making it easy for them, but somehow they seemed to overcome every obstacle with their heads bowed together in a secret plan of escape.

He felt a small pang of jealousy over that. He wasn't even sure if he made Tokio happy. He knew he could drive her wild, but that was nothing more than a physical reaction to his touch. Would she be happy tied to him? He wanted to make her happy, but he suddenly realized he didn't know how.

He glanced over at her with her arms crossed and her head held high, defiantly challenging him to answer her father's question. He saw the fire in her eyes, but he also saw fear. What was she afraid of? Lies? Deceit? Or was she thinking exactly what had his head at odds with his heart?

Was she afraid of _him_?

"I intend to make her mine," Saitou finally replied. "In any way I see fit." _In every way_.

Tokio's expression didn't change, but that was almost expected. She knew this. He threatened her with it every day.

"It is an interesting proposal," Takagi said slowly, "unorthodox and crude, but you have the upper hand on me, I'm afraid. I have no choice but to give you my blessing."

Tokio's eyes widened. So _that's_ why he had been acting strangely. His threat of marriage had not been a joke, but his true desire. As always, he had been rough in his affection and she had failed to see through it. Still, he had come with her to her family's house, not out of obligation, but for his own personal reasoning. He might refer to her as his plaything, but now she knew that he was serious. This wasn't a game any longer.

Shousha's mouth had dropped open in shock. The beast had won. He held her beautiful friend in his clutches for life. Surely she would refuse. She would. She had to.

She didn't.

"Okita-san, might I have a word in private?"

Okita nodded as Takagi stood, using his crutch as support, and when the blanket fell away, Okita's breath caught. Tokio's father noticed this and motioning to what was left of his right leg, he chuckled.

"Don't worry about this, kid. It was a fair trade. My leg for my wife. No complaints, no regrets."

Okita wasn't sure if he was joking or not and though he was tempted to inquire about said trade, he instead opted for following the hobbling Takagi into a small room tucked away off the side of the house.

"I'm going to be honest with you, Okita-san, because I like to consider myself an honest man these days."

Okita nodded for him to continue.

"I don't like what you're doing," he said, jabbing a finger at the boy's chest. "My family has met nothing but suffering because of this damned government. Now let me say that I am grateful for what you're friend there is doing for us, for Tokio, but I'm telling you right now that I will _never_ support you."

Okita didn't know what to say, but he didn't have to, as Takagi carried on.

"I'm an excellent judge of character. I know that Tokio will be happy, and I can tell just by your eyes that our little Shousha is your world."

"She is," said the captain quietly.

"But I also know that you're a liar."

Okita stood, dumbfounded. No one had _ever_ spoken to him in such a way and no one dared question his integrity. They didn't have to.

"A liar, sir?"

Takagi shifted his weight, leaning up against the wall. "You can't fool me, boy. You're a good kid, but you've got something dark going on inside you, so you look me in the eye right now and you answer me honest or I swear I'll kill you right here."

It was an empty threat and they both knew it, but Okita was compelled to do as he said. It was clear that Shousha held a special place in the heart of this family and as Tokio held a special place in _his_ heart, he wasn't about to let them down.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Your secret," Takagi started, staring down at him, "if Shousha were to know it, would it bring her harm? Would it bring my daughter harm?"

Okita let out his breath and chuckled lightly. "Oh, no, not at all. My secret is simply a matter of pride." he turned his palms up, examining his calloused hands, weathered by his years of training.

"I can't bear for anyone to see me as weak or incapable. How could I inspire the hearts of men who take pity on me? How can I honestly vow to protect a woman when I am the one who needs protecting?"

It was more than he had wanted to say, but the thoughts were always there, taunting him and pulling on his soul. They whispered doubt and unease and they begged to be released. Someone had to know. Someone who couldn't be affected. Someone he would most likely never see again.

"I see," Takagi replied, "You're dying."

Okita turned his face away from the man. He had never felt so much like a child as he did now: a child who had finally admitted his wrongdoing to a gentle, yet disapproving father.

His resolve kept him strong and he swallowed. "Yes. I am dying."

Takagi smiled gently at him and laid his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Keep your secret, Okita-san. Live your days for her."

He nodded then. "I always have."

When he returned to his friends, he was visibly shaken. Tokio chastised her father for scaring him, but Okita only smiled, noting that it was long past time to go. They said their goodbyes and on the street, Shousha reached for his hand. As their skin connected, he felt the weight of his guilt.

_Yes. I am dying._

He had come to terms with it long ago, but he suddenly wanted to go back in time and instead of fighting for his country, fight for his life. Maybe if he had concentrated on his health, he might have been able to be healed and he could be the dashing prince she imagined him to be. Noble. Strong.

Healthy.

When she looked over at him, she said something he didn't hear, and smiled encouragingly. How could she be so happy? He was leaving her again, without a word as before, but this time he was never going to come back. What sort of man was that? What kind of protection would be be offering her?

None. Nothing. That was what he had to offer. He knew it. She knew it.

He looked ahead of him at Saitou and Tokio who were exchanging bitter words and several series of shoves. They were an interesting pair, but he was happy for them. Saitou deserved happiness and Tokio deserved a life away from the slums and the crooked politicians.

And Shousha, she deserved-

"Ta-chan?"

Shousha's face before his broke him of his thoughts and he smiled, tightening his hold on her hand.

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

"It's your birthday tomorrow. Is there anything you would like?"

His birthday. Right. He had survived another year.

"I have everything I could ever want," he said truthfully, swinging their joined hands out in front of them as he often did when they were children "unless you know of a way to put an end to this fighting."

Shousha looked up at him brightly, "I don't, but at the very least tonight I can give you a reprieve."

"A reprieve?"

"A _party_," she said excitedly. "A party so fun that if we all died tomorrow, we wouldn't even care."

Okita's smile faded. If? Or _when_?

xxxx

**Author's Note:** Ah! I'm finally back on track to the original. I wish I could apologize for all the angst, but it's probably only going to get worse.

On a different note, Katsura! Iizuka! I have no idea why I love them so much, but I'm excited that they're finally worming their way into this story. For all you Battousai fans, I have a little bit more screen time planned for him too, as well as (haha) someone unexpected.

Thanks for reading; see you soon


	14. Celebration

_**Disclaimer**__: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs_

**Changes in Friendship**

_Chapter Fourteen_

By ten o'clock, the party was in full swing. The men were well supplied with food, drink, and even women were lounged about the room. Not wanting to keep all the attention focused on himself, Okita had toasted to Saitou and Tokio's engagement, giving everyone another reason to celebrate.

Shousha observed from the perimeter of the room, making sure everything she had arranged was in place. It had been more stressful than she had anticipated. She had lost several days of work due to a head cold and she had been feeling slightly faint ever since.

She had managed to pull everything together at the last minute, many thanks to Kondo's authority, and now her plans were all before her, perfect and successful.

"You're looking pretty pleased with yourself, missy," came the smooth voice of Harada as he came up beside her, mimicking her satisfied stance: arms crossed casually, grin plastered on his face.

"He didn't even see this coming," she said smugly, "and look at him with all his friends. He's having a blast."

And he was. Shousha had made sure that only his favourite dishes were served, that music was played, and all the women, the finest geisha in Kyoto (with help from Kondo) were entertaining any and all of the men with more grace and charm than Shousha might ever see again.

Okita sat amidst the celebration, chatting amiably with his well wishers and gently poking fun at Tokio when she rebelled against Saitou's demands. All his friends were here and everyone was happy, including him.

"Yanno what would make him really happy?"

Shousha glanced up at Harada. "What's that?"

With a wolfish smile, he bent down and whispered something in her ear. Her face exploded into a violent shade of red and she stared at him, unbelieving.

"You can't be serious!" she looked to Okita, then whipped her attention back to her friend. "I've never even seen one before!"

Harada kept grinning, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "There's a first time for everything, yeah?"

"Y-yes but. . ." she trailed off, the image of his incredibly raunchy suggestion, or at least her idea of it, refusing to leave her mind, "I can't imagine it was meant to be used in that way."

"He'll like it, I promise."

Shousha pulled on his sleeve, beckoning him to lower his face to hers. She couldn't bear to speak of such things too loudly.

"But really. . .in my _mouth_, Sanosuke?" Her fingers traveled up to her lips as she tried to make sense of what he had told her. "He'll never kiss me again after that."

He burst out into laughter then, positioning himself behind her and putting two strong hands on her shoulders.

"There ain't a man in the world who can resist that, missy," he whispered against her ear, "and I'm sure a gentleman like Okita would be more than happy to return the favor."

It was more than she could handle. With little warning, her knees buckled and she swooned, losing consciousness in Harada's arms. He wasn't surprised and as he carried her over to the man of the hour, he was still laughing.

"What happened?" Okita asked franticly, moving to stand, but Harada nudged him back down, putting the unconscious woman in his lap.

"My fault," he admitted, chuckling, "I was talking dirty to her."

Okita raised an eyebrow, "What on earth were you doing that for?"

Harada shrugged. "I was just suggesting a nice birthday present for you is all. You know. . . a little _fellatio."_

_ "Harada-san!_"

Saitou let out a snort of laughter and Tokio looked up at him. "Fellatio?"

"Never you mind about that, Tokio," he said, covering her ears, "all you'll ever need to know you can learn from me."

"You've gotta admit," Harada said, pointing towards the small captain on the floor, "that would be a pretty awesome present."

Okita wasn't listening. He had his face buried in his hands. As if sleeping next to her wasn't enough, now he had the most deliciously naughty image stuck in his head. He was able to quell his own fantasies, but when someone else initiated them it was much more difficult.

She stirred then, looking around groggily, but smiled when she looked up to see Okita's face.

"I'm sorry," she said, wiggling to a more upright position, "but Sanosuke was saying things that I just can't believe."

Okita smiled at her, using his thumb to stroke her pinking cheek, "I find that to happen quite often, don't you?"

Harada scoffed lightly.

"You wouldn't believe it either," Shousha went on, "he told me I should put your p-"

She was silenced by Okita's lightning fast movement of a hand over her mouth. "Please don't say it out loud, Shou-chan," he begged, "it's bad enough that you have to know it. I don't want to hear you speak the words."

"Then it is a common practice?" she asked, horrified as she lowered his hand.

"There is, ah, a certain level of intimacy that would include such an activity, yes."

"And have you ever been on that level of intimacy?"

Blushing, he stood, pulling her up with him. "I do not want to discuss this in such delicate company," he told her before adding, "or in the company of anyone for that matter."

He led her out of the crowded room and into the hall, encouraging her to take a walk with him. It was a rare occurrence, being alone with her without any time constraints or pressing matters.

"How are you feeling?" he asked as they made their way outside.

She smiled at him, accepting the blanket he draped around her shoulders. "I still get a little dizzy, but my nose isn't so stuffy anymore."

"That's good," he whispered, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind, and resting his chin on her shoulder. "Have you eaten? The food is delicious."

"I'm not that hungry," she replied softly.

"You're still pale. You should eat anyway."

Shousha stared out into the night and reached up to pat his head. "You worry too much, Ta-chan."

He sighed. "I know."

"Look," she said, settling her hands over his and tilting her head towards him, "It's snowing."

He laughed. They had always loved the snow as children. Much to their parents' chagrin, they had taken quite a liking to challenging each other when winter rolled around. They would stand side by side, barefoot in the snow until one of them surrendered to the pain of their frozen toes.

This game was usually initiated by Okita, who was determined to prove his worth as a man and resist pain, but Shousha had always been the one to come out of it victorious. It wasn't that she was stronger than he was, but that he couldn't stand to see her so cold. Even though he knew that she probably would have won on her own due to her determination to beat him at _something_, Okita usually made a show of failure when she let her shivering show.

He was a gentleman, after all.

"I won't let you go out there barefoot," he murmured in her ear, giving her lobe a small nibble.

"It's because you know I'll win," she said smugly.

"And think of my embarrassment when you do."

She turned to him, tugging lightly on his hair and giving him a cheeky smirk. "I won't let them know you lost to a girl."

He had thought to reply, but a flash of silver from the courtyard below distracted him. The scream that followed made his heart lurch and he ushered Shousha into the house as a man from below hurried in.

"Soushi, what's going on?" She asked, trying to keep her balance as he pulled her down the hall, running back to the celebration.

"I don't know, but-"

"We're under attack!"

The panicked cry of a low solider silenced the party as he burst in, covered in blood.

"The guards are dead," he panted. "I saw it. The Choshu clan is here."

Okita skidded to a halt, outstretching his arm to prevent Shousha from falling forward. The Choshu were here? What could possibly be happening to make them so brazen? Were they that confident that they could bring the fall of the Shinsengumi in one night or did they suddenly have some sort of secret weapon?

The room exploded into a mixture of panic and rage then, and while everyone scurried to head outside, Okita took hold of Shousha's hand again, and called out across the room.

"Tokio! Come with me!"

Saitou nodded her over and she hurried after the couple who had already disappeared. It was the first time Okita had ever addressed her with her given name and she wasn't about to question it.

The three ran down the stairs, led by Okita whose face had a determination set on it, mixed with a small bit of worry and anger.

"I want you ladies to take the rest of the women to the Aoiya," he was saying, raising his voice over the commotion.

"The what?" Tokio called out

"The Aoiya?" Shousha repeated.

"Yes," he said, rounding a corner a bit too sharply. Though he masterfully maintained his balance, Shousha slipped and fell to the ground. Okita muttered an apology as he helped her up, then pulled her along towards the kitchen.

"There is a ninja clan there. They will keep you all safe."

"_Ninja?_"

There were several shrieks from the Shinsengumi wives as the trio crashed into the kitchen. Okita released Shousha's hand and she stood there with Tokio, watching as he tore through the utensils, desperately searching for something.

"The Oniwabanshuu is neutral," he explained, holding up a rather menacing kitchen knife, "and if they wish to stay that way they will house you_."_

Shousha took a couple steps back, the situation beginning to sink in. She shook her head furiously as he pressed the knife into her hands.

"_Take this, _Shou-chan, and lead all the women to the Aoiya."

"I can't," she breathed, heart racing. She pushed his hands back towards him, rejecting the weapon. "I'm not a leader like you are, Soushi."

"Right now you have to be," he told her urgently, slipping the knife into her obi, "You have to use your strengths to protect those around you."

"I can't, I can't I _can't_."

"Shousha." With two hands on her face, he stared at her intently. "You can. You must. Do not use the streets. Head north through the forest and it will lead you to where you need to be."

Shaking, she nodded, though her confidence was nowhere in sight. Tokio stepped forward, raising a firm fist.

"We'll be there," she said. "Do what you have to."

He gave Shousha a quick peck on the cheek then turned and disappeared into the night.

The walk to the Aoiya was cold, hard, and long. Shousha led the pack of women, her innate sense of direction keeping them accurately on track. Every owl that hooted, or tree that shook sent shivers up her spine and it was only the thought of a well lit inn, a cup of tea, and a bolted door that kept her panic at bay.

Tokio had settled in at the back of the march, keeping everyone together. She didn't have to, really. These women were strong and able. They had given up their houses and their dreams of domestic life to support and tend to the men of the Shinsengumi. While many wives stayed at home growing fat with children and gossip, the dojo wives scrubbed blood from clothes and were quite capable of stitching up an injured man.

Shousha stopped suddenly and Tokio peered around the group at her friend.

"Is everything okay?"

Shousha ushered the women on and gripped the knife hidden in the folds of her clothing. They weren't alone.

"It's okay, just go," she said, giving Tokio a nudge forward, "It's probably just a fox or a raccoon."

Tokio looked doubtful. "You shouldn't shop."

"I'll just be a moment; don't wait for me."

She had to shake this feeling. She had to know that she was imagining things. Tokio vanished in the darkness and Shousha was left with the falling snow, but not alone.

The hairs on the back of her neck rose and she pulled her knife out from her obi. She could feel eyes on her, but the white static that fell from the sky blinded her.

"Who's there?" she asked, her voice trembling.

At first there was no reply. No rustling, no snow crunching, not even the hint of a whisper.

And then it came.

"You shouldn't be alone, princess."

A deep, rumbling voice that she didn't recognize. There was mockery in his tone and laughter in his words.

"Who are you?" she asked, spinning around, trying to seek out her company.

There was an arm at her throat then, a suffocating limb that pinned her to the front of a man she couldn't see. She squirmed against his hold, and he laughed at her.

"Don't bother, princess."

"Why are you calling me that," she wheezed, "I'm not a princess."

"Not a princess, aren't you? I think your wolf prince might think otherwise."

He loosened his grip on her just enough for her to catch her breath.

"What do you want?" she demanded, "Where are you going to take me?"

His chuckling made her uneasy and she tossed her head from side to side that she might catch some sort of glimpse of what this man looked like.

"I'm not taking you anywhere, Shousha. I am going to end you."

She gasped and remembered the weapon in her hand. She brought her hand up blindly, swinging the knife back, aiming for anything she could find. His free hand caught her wrist and with a simple squeeze, the knife fell to the ground as her fingers involuntarily opened.

"There is someone who seems to find your existence rather inconvenient," he went on, "your allegiance to the Shogunate's dogs in particular."

She heard the unsheathing of a sword and her breath quickened. There was nothing she could do. His arm was back against her throat, threatening her air supply and keeping her firmly in her place.

"Are you the Battousai?" she questioned, hoping to buy time.

The man clicked his tongue. "I am very much like the Battousai, but I doubt he enjoys this job nearly as much as I do."

The feeling of steel against the inner flesh of her arm brought Shousha to full awareness. It was cold, yet it burned and when it pierced her skin, she bit down on her lip hard. As he brought it up the length of her arm, she heard the sickening sound of the silk being split and her body being cut open. She whimpered and she struggled against his hold, but there were purple splotches blinking in and out of her vision that told her she wouldn't be conscious much longer.

"Who sent you?" she whispered weakly, moaning pleadingly as he made a second incision, identical to the first, on her other arm. She felt her blood, warm and sticky, migrating from it's home inside her body, down her fingers and dripping off into two thick puddles by her feet.

"Don't you know?" he asked, grinning as she began to loose her footing.

"No," came her answer in the form of a forced whisper.

He moved his mouth towards her, lips directly in her ear so she could never mistake the words he spoke.

"It was your darling fiancee, princess."

He released her and as she gasped for air, she collapsed into the snow, face splashing in the steadily growing puddle of her own blood. Her fingers twitched, and the breaths she took were rapid and desperate.

Her attacker stood above her, shadow covering her body.

"This is a test, Shousha. In this world that we live in, the strong will live, and the weak will die." He paused, flicking a folded piece of paper onto her fading body. "How strong are you?"

He left silently and Shousha found herself alone. The snow fell on her face, her body, and the twin rivers on her arms. It was cold, she knew, but she couldn't feel it. She couldn't feel anything. She couldn't smell anything; not the metallic stench of blood, nor the crispness of the air. She didn't hear the hooting of the owls and she could no longer differentiate the falling snow from the splotches before her eyes.

A million thoughts ran through her head, but the only one that stuck was that she had lost her shoes during her short-lived fight. With her remaining strength, she used her toes to coax her tabi from her feet. It took some time, even though it was something she had always managed to do in her sleep.

Once she was laying barefoot alone, freezing and bleeding in the forest, she smiled, closing her eyes and surrendering herself to the darkness.

_Sorry Ta-chan. Looks like I win again._

xxx


	15. Grief

_**Disclaimer**__: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs_

**Changes in Friendship**

_Chapter Fifteen_

By the time Okita entered the courtyard, the panic was settling. No one was fighting, in fact, no one was doing much of anything. There was a group of men surrounding the few bodies that littered the ground. Guards. That was all.

"What is this?" he asked, slowing his pace and coming up on the deceased.

"Dunno," said Harada. "Got a couple dead men, but there ain't no one here."

A sharp discomfort made its home in the pit of Okita's stomach then. No one would come in, kill a couple guards and then disappear. Not without reason.

"Have we searched outside?"

Harada shook his head. "Nah, no need to-"

But Okita was already off, headed towards the gate. Someone was out there, watching them, laughing at them. He wouldn't be made a fool of, not tonight.

Silence and emptiness greeted him as he arrived on the street. He ran alongside the perimeter of the wall, gripping his sword tightly in his hand. His ears were alert, his eyes sharp and focused through the falling snow.

As he rounded the corner, he was met with nothing. Irritated, he whipped around and ran back the way he had come. His feet pounded the ground and his breath came in a steady rhythm to match.

The other side of the property greeted him the same way the others had and he cursed sharply under his breath.

_What was going on?_

A footstep crunched behind him and he spun, ready to kill, but relaxed as he found himself facing Harada and Hijikata.

"Saitou has gone into the forest after the women," Hijikata told him, "you should follow. Harada will take the streets to the Aoiya. One of you will reach them and bring them home."

Okita nodded, sheathing his sword, and took off in the direction he had sent Shousha and Tokio. It wasn't likely they would still be in the woods, but it wouldn't hurt to check. They might have been strong women, but there was no need for them to wander around in the snow senselessly.

xxxx

Saitou was no less than irritated as he trekked through the thickening snow of the forest. What a waste of his time. Attack, he had been told. They were under attack. What a load of bullshit that had been.

The boy that had so rudely interrupted his engagement party had been nothing but that. A boy.

_I saw it_, he had said. _I saw him kill them_.

Saitou frowned angrily. Death was not something any of them should have been shocked about, least of all the death of their own men. These days it was becoming more and more frequent with Battousai prowling the streets, but this was not the work of the Battousai. It couldn't be. A man of such skill wouldn't waste his time or energy on a couple of lowly guards only to flee the scene.

_A demon!_ the boy had started shouting minutes after he had so _rudely_ interrupted Saitou's engagement party. _He had red eyes like blood!_

So now he was to believe that a demon had decided to pick a fight with them? Ridiculous. This had to have been the doing of a ronin, some rogue samurai with a warped sense of justice trying to send them a message that ultimately had no meaning.

It was bad enough that he had been unable to continue on with his original intention of drinking himself into a blissful oblivion (and hoping to get a little fellatio of his own) but now he was spending extra time not drinking, and not getting any sort of action be it sexual, homicidal, or otherwise because he had to collect the _women._

Grumbling to himself and making a grand show of stomping through the snow, Saitou was more than ready to turn around let the horrid females find their own way home when he came across a small clearing, lit by the fullness of the night's moon. On any other night, he would have dismissed it as nothing, turned around, and went home as he had planned.

But there was something laying in the snow.

Hand posed firmly on the hilt of his sword, he inched forward. There was blood. Upon closer inspection he could see the form of a woman's body and for a moment, just a fraction of a second, his heart leapt up to his throat.

It wasn't- no. It wasn't Tokio. But there was no mistaking this body. There was only one woman he knew with clothing that fine. There was only one woman who had been traveling through these woods with her hair tied so childishly. Only one woman whose romantic thoughts would have made her think she could hold her own alone.

Shousha.

Hurrying over, he knelt by her body, knees soaking in the bloody snow. He tilted her face gently towards himself and grimaced. There was no mistaking it.

Using his sleeve, he brushed the snow off her hair and with soft, quick movements, freed the strands that had been caked onto her skin by the blood she had lain in. He shook his head, eyes traveling down her body to find the source of her wound.

Her arms. How unusual. Whomever had done this had not picked her off because she was the weakest, but had targeted her from the beginning. This had been planned, practiced, and if the twin incisions, both so perfect and meticulously made, were any indication of the killer's personal preference, this man had _enjoyed_ it.

His eyes fell upon a small piece of paper then and he picked it up, flicking it open with his thumb. The paper was almost entirely crimson now, but the words were unmistakeable.

_Happy Birthday._

"Fuck."

He crumpled up the note in his fist, squeezing his eyes shut. Damn them. All of them.

"Saitou-san!"

Saitou's eyes snapped open and he whipped around, standing and brandishing his arm out.

"Stay back, Okita!" he bellowed. "You don't need to see this."

Okita let out a light laugh. "Really, Saitou-san," he began, strolling over. "You don't think my stomach is that w-"

Saitou's heart began to pound and he wished he were anywhere else. For some reason, he felt guilty, as if having found Shousha like this branded him the killer. Though he was normally calm, collected, and relatively indifferent, he was unsure of his ability to deal with his friend's grief.

Okita's silence was stomach churning.

There was a small crunch as his weapon slipped from his hand followed by his knees hitting the ground. He could feel the blood rush from his face and when he reached out to her, his hands were shaking.

He took her hand first. Through the frigidness of the night, it was still slightly warm despite the sickly grey colour that suggested otherwise. He noticed the cuts immediately, the deep gashes in her once soft and slightly ticklish skin. How many times had he kissed that skin, playing the part of a charming prince in their fairy tale games?

Not enough.

He pulled her against him then, burying his head in her neck. He couldn't smell her. Someone had stolen her scent and replaced it with a repulsive, metallic stench that he now knew he would never be able to escape.

"This can't be," he whispered shakily, cradling her body against his and rocking back and forth. "This isn't real."

Saitou inhaled as if to speak, but thought better of it. Okita's eyes were wide now and he wasn't right.

"She can't die. She wouldn't die," he was chanting over and over, "She loves me. Somebody _loves_ me."

Saitou leaned against a tree, staring down at the man on the ground who was on the brink of hysterics. He liked to think he was the type of man who would be the first to say that life wasn't fair, war wasn't fair, and that was something they would all have to live with.

But this, _this_ crossed the line. This was unfair in a way that no human would be able to fathom. What reason did Katsura have to send his man to slay this innocent, if irriating and foolish, but still entirely _innocent,_ girl? There was no reason that would pacify him, no reason that would ever make him think that Yamata Shousha, a girl who lived solely for the love of her best friend, deserved to _die._

Okita was sobbing now, quietly soaking Shousha's skin with his muffled tears. He continued to rock her, to calm himself.

"I love you," he breathed, "I love you more than anything_."_

Something happened then and if Saitou hadn't been observing the situation so intently, he would have missed it entirely.

She twitched.

No, it wasn't a twitch. Her finger was moving. It was small, it was slight, and damn it all, it was the weakest sign anyone could have ever given, but as he focused in on her left hand, there was no mistaking it.

She was alive.

"Okita."

"I never told her, Saitou-san," Okita said shakily as he wrapped her in his Haori, gritting his teeth as he watched the blue flow into a sickly reddish-brown. "She never knew."

"Okita she isn't dead."

Saitou knelt before him and pressed two fingers to the pulse on her neck. It was there, but only just. He took one of her arms in his hands and held it up against the moonlight. It was still bleeding, but there were several places in which clotting was becoming visible.

They didn't have much time.

"Sh-she's alive?" Still in a mournful stupor, Okita stared at Saitou, eyes glossed over, listening, but not hearing.

"Take her to the hospital," he said, standing, "you don't have much time."

Okita looked down at Shousha, lip twitching in a futile attempt at a smile. "You're alive?"

A sharp pain on the side of his head brought him from his daze, Saitou having giving him a quick smack to snap him back to reality. He now stood above him, furiously pointing to the East.

"_The hospital_," he growled, "_Now!_"

"O-of course!"

Hurrying up, Okita wrapped Shousha tightly and held her against him. It was only going to get colder and the snow was beginning to fall thicker. He had to go.

With a speed even he was unaware of possessing, he tore from the forest. The streets were still empty and he grit his teeth harder. The hospital had to be nearby. He backtracked several times and soon found that he had gone in a circle.

Why did everything look the _same_?

"I won't let you die, Shou-chan," he vowed, "just hang on. I promise you won't die."

As he passed over a bridge, his lungs began to burn. His fingers were frozen and he couldn't feel his face, but he had to keep moving. A familiar feeling rose up in his throat and he felt his freezing body go hot within a second as he took quick breaths to swallow down the cough. Unsuccessful, he fell to the ground, his grip on Shousha tightening on impact. Without any other choice, he coughed into her body, the smell of both their blood assaulting his nostrils.

The fit had left him weak and shaking, but somehow he managed to stand. The woman in his arms threatened to fall as chills rippled through him, leaving his muscles sore and unable.

Two people appeared before him then, a couple who couldn't have been any older than sixteen if they were a day.

"Oh please," he croaked, extending his arms out to show them the bloodied girl, "help me."

The boy, a samurai in his father's place, ushered his lady behind him. He eyed Okita fearfully.

"What do you want?" he asked, hand at his sword, though it was clear he was inexperienced.

"I need a hospital," Okita pleaded, "she's dying. Please."

The boy craned his head to look at Shousha and the girl behind him had a fierce grip on his shoulder.

"Miburo," she whispered.

It was then that the boy's eyes traveled to the coat that she was wrapped in and though it had mostly been soaked through, there was no mistaking the white mountains on the hem. He tensed, taking a step back.

"I'm begging you!" Okita cried, "I can't let her die!"

In a moment of moral conviction, the boy nodded. "Follow me."

xxxx

Tokio sat rigid, teacup in her hand. She was thirsty and she was cold, but she couldn't bring herself to drink. Shousha had been gone far too long. She knew that her friend wasn't lost; it was impossible for Shousha to get lost.

"What are you worrying about?"

Tokio turned her attention to a small child, not more than five years old. Her sapphire eyes shone bright with curiosity and she had a tiny little grin on her face that on any other day would have made the older woman melt.

"My friend is lost," she said quietly. "and I'm afraid she won't come back."

The little girl grinned. "Oh don't you worry about a thing. I bet Aoshi-sama is out there right now fighting the bad guys."

Tokio wanted to smile back assuringly, but she didn't have it in her. Setting her cup down on the table, she stood and headed for the door. She couldn't stay cooped up inside this way when someone so dear to her could very well be in trouble.

Before she could head out, a giant of a man stood before her. He rivaled Hajime in size, but in appearance, he bore a striking resemblance to Hijikata. He had the same stony, placid look, the same icy stare.

"Leaving would be unwise," he told her.

"You don't understand," she protested, trying to squeeze by him, but he only steered her back into the inn.

"My friend is out there!" she cried, lashing out at him.

He remained calm, keeping two firm hands on her shoulders, rendering her immobile. "You were sent here so you would be protected. I will not have you putting yourself in danger on my time."

He then turned to the little girl and extended his hand. "Come Misao, you should be asleep."

The little girl let out a small whine, but took his hand anyway, allowing him to lead her upstairs.

Tokio let out a dejected sigh. How could she just sit here and _wait_?

Just then the door slammed open and Harada burst into the room. Many sighs of relief could be heard from the wives, all of who greatly enjoyed his company, but it was the second man that stormed in that made Tokio's heart leap.

Saitou came through the entryway with a strange look on his face and without even so much as a 'hello', he grabbed her arm and pulled her close. This surprised her and she laughed, pressing her hand to his chest.

"Hajime, what on Earth-"

"Shhh," he hushed, wrapping himself around her, "just let me hold you."

She stiffened. This was so unlike him. She wiggled herself loose enough to tilt her head up and get a decent view of his face. His eyes were closed, but not in a peaceful or pleased sort of way. His brow was furrowed and his mouth twitched in a strange way that led Tokio to believe he was trying to forget something.

"Hajime," she tried again, "what happened out there?"

He didn't answer her at first. In fact, he didn't even acknowledge that he had heard her. With his large hand, he stroked her hair, and inhaled her sweet scent.

"Do you love me, Tokio?"

Tokio stepped back.

"_What?_"

He blinked. That had been a rather direct question. Had he not been clear?

Harada looked over as well. He too had been unable to get a word out of the man when they had met up, but his ferocious will to get to the Aoiya told the spear wielding wolf that something had gone wrong.

"I said," Saitou repeated looking her directly in the eye, "Do you love me?"

Tokio exhaled with a look of desperation. "Does it matter?"

The stunned look on his face told her that yes, it did matter, and she had been insensitive enough to assume that he was the type of man he made everyone think he was. But then, that wasn't being insensitive, but gullible. Or maybe it wasn't that she was gullible, but he was very convincing.

"I suppose it doesn't then," he bit off, removing himself from her. She reached out for him, but he shrugged her off.

"We're going to the hospital," he said shortly, throwing his haori at her, "put this on before you freeze."

She did as she was told, enjoying the scent of him that enveloped her body.

"Why are we going to the hospital? Did something happen?"

He didn't answer, but whisked her from the inn, half dragging her down the street. When they were out of both sight and earshot, he dropped her hand.

"I would die for you," he said angrily as he lit up a cigarette. "I want you to know that."

She covered her nose, glaring up at him as she tried desperately to keep up his pace. "You're being very vague, Hajime and I don't appreciate it at all."

Vague? What a stupid woman. Here he was telling her that she was so important to him that he would willingly give his life for her own and she was calling him _vague_?

"We're going to the hospital," he said again, "and it will be a miracle of your friend isn't dead when we get there."

xxxx


	16. Hospital

_**Disclaimer**__: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs_

**Changes in Friendship**

_Chapter Sixteen_

Katsura hurried down the stairs of the inn. It was snowing. Finally, the weather did as it suggested.

Reaching the landing, he peered outside, hesitating. What reason did he have to go out there? What reason did he have not to? He bent down slightly to pull an umbrella from the vase on the floor when he was met with a familiar voice.

"Changed your mind?"

Katsura turned to face the examiner who was standing with his arms crossed, lazily resting his shoulder against a beam.

Katsura cleared his throat, pulling the umbrella from its place. "I have business."

Iizuka smirked. "Alone?"

"Why are you so concerned?"

With a small grunt, Iizuka pushed himself off the wooden support and with two fingers, handed his leader a piece of paper.

"It's too late," he said, "Makoto's finished."

Katsura flipped open the note which confirmed that the job was indeed complete. He had successfully freed himself of his father's contract. The distraction that this would present to the Shinsengumi was, of course, an added bonus.

But why did he feel a nagging sense of guilt?

Shaking his head, he let the parasol drop back into the vase, tucking the note away.

"Very good," he said, leaving Iizuka quietly seething, "I'll be retiring for the night."

xxxx

Tokio burst into the hospital, heart racing. Saitou had refused to disclose any information on the situation, not having any real desire to hold a conversation with her. Despite his barking orders to stay with him, she had taken off as fast as her legs could carry her.

The bustle of the hospital was terrifying. Nurses flitted about, men were yelling, and women were wailing as their husbands died before their eyes. Tokio had never been to such a place and she would be happy never to come here again.

Amidst the chaos, she spotted Okita and her stomach dropped. He was standing, just off to the side enough to be out of the way and if she hadn't known him so well, she would have never recognized him. His eyes were glazed over as if he were in a trance. He wobbled slightly; everyone that passed by him seem to threaten his vertical position, and there was hardly any color in his normally bright and cheery face. But what frightened Tokio to the core was the _blood_.

It was everywhere.

The true color of his clothing was unrecognizable and his hands were beginning to turn dark brown as it dried and hardened. There was a smudge running up one side of his neck onto his cheek and he had even managed to smear his forehead.

"Soushi what _happened_?" she cried, abandoning formalities and dashing over to him, just dodging the metal tray of a nurse.

Okita turned to her and if he recognized her, there was no indication.

"I'm so afraid," he trembled.

With a short cry, Tokio pulled him against her, cradling his head against her chest in a motherly embrace.

Okita was never afraid.

She pulled him gently to the perimeter of the room where she eased him onto a bench and began to rock him, humming a soothing melody much as her father had done for her when she was afraid.

"She's going to die, Tokio," he whispered, clutching her sleeve.

"She's not going to die," she responded firmly, stroking the side of his face. He was about to fall asleep. She could feel his body becoming heavy against her own. "She'll be fine."

But Tokio didn't know if Shousha was going to be fine. Nobody seemed to be able to tell her what happened.

Saitou walked in then and upon seeing Tokio cuddling another man, he had just about had it. Furious, he turned on his heel and left. He perched himself outside and began to smoke, allowing himself to sink deeper and deeper into the depths that was his current brooding.

After what might have been near fifteen minutes, a body appeared beside him, crouching against the wall.

Tokio.

"I don't want to look at you right now," he said coldly. "Get back inside."

"No."

His upper lip curled as he took in her solid defiance. He was in no mood for her games. As a show of his distaste, he dropped his cigarette onto the top of her head, watching as the ashes crumbled off the end and mixed in with the snow that was falling on her hair.

"I don't understand you," she said quietly, not making any motion to remove the garbage from her head.

"Tokio," he said, testing himself with how patient he was about to be, "This past hour has been the worst I have yet to experience. Leave me be."

Tokio stood, tossing the cigarette from her head and shoving him up against the building. "What happened?" she demanded, giving his chest an extra shove for emphasis, "Tell me why you're acting like such a bastard!"

The look that came over his face then very well could have sent her to an early grave. She stood her ground, as uneven as it was, but her knees trembled as he stared her down.

"In this past hour," he began icily, gripping her upper arm with a fierce strength that couldn't possibly be human, "I have been tricked and made a fool of. I found the mutilated carcass of an innocent woman, which, might I add, happened to be Okita's fucking _birthday present_ from the Choshu."

Tokio whimpered as she felt her arm lose feeling, but he wasn't done.

"I traveled half blind through the night to retrieve women who didn't need saving, and when all I wanted was a little bit of affection from the woman who would be my _wife_, I found myself shunned. Then, as if rejecting me wasn't enough, you ran away from me and when I find you, you have another man in your arms.

"Forgive me," he spat, "for being upset."

Tokio was at a loss for words. As he shoved her away and lit up another cigarette, she saw more than anger in his eyes.

He was hurt.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

He sniffed. "No need to apologize. I made the foolish assumption that you hold the same affections for me as I do you. I will not make that mistake again."

His words pierced her heart like a thousand daggers. She furiously racked her brain for examples and proof that she did care for him deeply, but much to her horror, she found nothing. Had she never told him how much she enjoyed his company? She had visited him every night, yes, but there could be a million reasons for that. She had initiated their kiss, that had to count for something, didn't it? But then, that only proved that she was physically attracted to him.

It was now that she wanted more than anything to say it. _I love you Hajime_. She had said it to herself so many times, why hadn't she ever told him?

Because he would have spurned her. _Love_? What a silly romantic notion. He had no time or patience for such a ridiculous frivolity. Hadn't he said that once?

It turned out he was human after all, but much to her dismay, her chance had passed. She couldn't tell him now, not when they were at odds. No, they weren't at odds. She was on the cusp of losing him forever. She had driven a stake into his heart and if she removed it too quickly, he would bleed out. If she left it there, his heart would cease to function.

There was nothing she could do.

Saitou took a deep breath. "I am not easily frightened," he told her. His voice was even now, showing no hint of anger, but uninviting still. "But tonight I was terrified."

Tokio took a couple steps closer to him, testing how close she could get without being pushed away.

"Every step I took," he continued, "every corner I turned, I prepared myself to find you just as I had found her." He flicked the remains of his smoke away. "That fear will haunt me forever."

She swallowed. "I'm here," she said softly. "and I won't leave you."

"You don't understand," he said bitterly. "I watched the strongest man I know fall to pieces over his woman. Do you have any idea what it is like to watch a grown man reduced to nothing? Do you know what I would do if I lost you? Because I sure as hell don't."

Tokio let herself slide back into a crouch. "It's my fault."

"Blaming yourself won't change anything, Tokio."

"No," she said, hugging her knees. "I let her go back alone. If we had stayed together none of this would have happened."

It took a few minutes, but Saitou slid his gaze over to her. He was angry, but she was overwhelmed. It was too much for both of them to take in at once and because of it, they were in this horrible situation, both of them grasping for footing in the cracks that had burst through their relationship.

Watching her as she held back her tears, he pulled out yet another cigarette and lit it, but this time, he lowered his hand, offering it to her.

"It'll calm you down," he said softly.

She accepted it, but couldn't bring herself to put it to her mouth. The stench was already making her nauseous. Saitou understood, not making any comment as she let it burn.

"Can we go home?" she asked, not looking at him. She didn't want to be here anymore. Shousha was dying, Okita was breaking, and Hajime might be giving up on her. It was too much. She needed to get away from it.

Saitou obliged, sweeping her up into his arms. He wouldn't let her get away this time.

xxxx

"Okita-san? Okita-san, wake up."

There was a soft hand jiggling his shoulder and he opened his eyes, unsure of where he was and who was touching him. Her voice was small, yet firm, with a slight hint of pleading.

The smell that filled his nose woke him instantly. Jerking up, he looked around frantically. The sun was shining in through the windows and the waiting room had cleared considerably.

He was in the same clothes he had come here in.

The nurse at his side smiled at him gently. "Good morning, Okita-san. Are you well?"

He was unsure of how to respond. Was he well? That depended entirely on the answer to the question he was about to ask.

"Shousha. . ." he began, trailing off, afraid to hear the answer.

"They're doing their best," came her sympathetic reply. How many times had she told someone that today, he wondered.

He nodded. "I understand."

"This is yours," she said, handing him his Haori. It was clean, brilliantly so, dried, and folded. The way she handed it to him was like a proud wife, glad to have been able to serve her husband in domestic duties. He wasn't sure why, but it unnerved him.

"Thank you," he replied, the smile he gave contradicting the nothingness in his voice.

"I have just a few questions for you."

Okita nodded for her to ask.

"Did anything unusual happen before the incident?"

"Unusual?"

"Yes," she said.

Okita thought for a moment. What did she mean by unusual? Shousha had been attacked. Whatever had happened before was irrelevant. She couldn't have been referring to the fake attack. This was a hospital, not a courtroom.

"Why do you ask?" he wondered.

She smiled at him, her default face. "The doctor has some concerns regarding her general health."

Again, he thought. She had been sick this past week, but nothing out of the ordinary had come of it. Nothing except-

"She fainted," he said softly. With all the commotion of the celebration, he hadn't had the time to consider it when it had happened. Harada had been filling her ears with filthy thoughts, but Shousha was not the type of woman to go weak in the knees over such things. Blush, fumble, and stutter, yes, but never swoon. Never faint.

"She was recovering from a head cold," he explained.

The nurse nodded, taking note of this with a stick of charcoal. "The symptoms of this illness?" she asked as she wrote.

He furrowed his brow. It was a cold. What symptoms were there? "Ah, sneezing," he replied, "congestion, loss of appetite, headaches. . .typical symptoms."

"Any coughing?"

At mention of the symptom, so tiny and insignificant to most anyone else, Okita's heart lurched. "E-exuse me?"

"Was there a cough," she repeated, finally looking up at him, "with her head cold."

"No," he told her. There hadn't been. Had there?

"Thank you, Okita-san."

She bowed and turned from him, but he reached out for her elbow. "Why do you need to know?" he begged. "What's wrong with her?"

Apologetically, she removed his hand from her and smiled. "I will give you an update when I have more information, sir. For the time being perhaps you should go home and freshen up."

"I can't leave her," he said, "I need to know that she won't die."

Growing bored with his persistence, she nodded her head at a spot behind him. "She isn't alone. Your two friends are here. They've been in and out all morning."

Not giving him a chance to protest, the nurse hurried away. Okita turned, scanning for Saitou and Tokio, or perhaps Harada and Hijikata. What he found, were the two youths who had directed him here. They had stayed?

He had to thank them.

As he approached, the girl tensed, gripping the boy's arm tightly. In turn, the boy turned to him, standing. Okita gave him a polite bow of gratitude, but he knew that if Shousha came out alive, he would owe more than formalities.

"Is she. . .?"

"Alive," Okita said, exhaling forcefully, "for the moment."

There was an awkward silence between them before the boy spoke.

"What- what happened?" he asked, "if you don't mind me asking."

Okita scratched his forehead. He wished people would stop asking him that question. "Choshu," he said softly, "though I don't know why."

And he didn't. It was the first time he was able to think about it, but it didn't make any sense that the clan of imperialists would target her. It would have made sense if he had been a target; he recalled being vulnerable holding her lifeless body. If he had been the target, however, there would have been an ambush waiting for him. If he had been the target, he had no doubt that Saitou would have been on their radar as well, but Tokio had been left unharmed.

Katsura had, for whatever demented reason, gone through the trouble of distracting them in order to lure Shousha from the safety of her home. He had also sent a methodical and sadistic man to do the job. The Battousai would have made a quick job of her, leaving her body fractured in places no one knew could break. The assassin that had taken on this job had been cut from another cloth. His method had been slow, painful, and enjoyable.

But _why_?

"Choshu," the boy echoed.

"It can't be," the girl behind him whispered. She hadn't yet taken her fearful eyes off Okita, as if he would devour her at any second. "Katsura-san is a kind and gentle man."

Okita's eyes snapped to her. "You know Katsura?"

She flinched, recoiling as far as she could. She had said too much. She was always saying too much.

"N-not personally," she admitted.

"I see," Okita mused, turning his attention to the boy, "Then you are Choshu."

He nodded firmly, keeping true to his allegiance, but not without first flicking a worried glance to the two swords Okita was currently resting his hand on.

The Shinsengumi officer, however, laughed.

"Well," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "That puts me in an awkward position, doesn't it?"

The boy held up his hands. "No, no please. Don't feel that you owe me anything."

Okita's face became solmen. "If not for you she would be dead. I owe you more than you know."

But the other kept shaking his head, "I refuse to put a price on the life of a woman."

Okita smiled sadly.

This seemed to relax the girl and she leaned forward slightly. "Is she your wife?"

He continued to smile softly. "In a perfect world, miss. Unfortunately, she is promised to another."

She sat up straight then and tilted her head. "But you're in love with her!" she protested.

He decided he liked this girl as something about her reminded him of Shousha when she was younger.

The boy looked at her, surprise and worry on his face. "Hiroto be careful!" he cried. They may have had an advantage, but this man was still a Miburo after all.

Not wanting any more tension, Okita gave her a low bow. "Okita Soushi, miss. First captain of the Shinsengumi." he turned to her friend and gave him a lopsided grin, "contrary to popular belief, we do not eat little girls."

She giggled and the younger man upturned his lips at this and bowed in return. "Omiro, sir," he said, "Just Omiro."

"Omiro-kun," he said, "is Katsura so lenient that you spend your time on the streets at night and visiting hospitals all day?"

Omiro's face fell then and Okita felt a little bad for poking fun at him.

"I'm not much use," he admitted, "I am my father's replacement, but he was an excellent swordsman. I. . ." he let his voice trail off, giving a hopeless shrug.

"You're young," Okita told him, "You should be thankful that you are of little use. You should be spending your youth with Hiroto-chan, not taking lives-or worse, giving your own so senselessly."

Omiro lifted his chin. "My life would not be given so senselessly."

"Wouldn't it? If I were to take it from you tomorrow, what would you have accomplished?"

Omiro's expression became crestfallen, but he looked up as Okita rested a hand on his shoulder.

"I admire your determination to fight, Omiro-kun, but I speak from experience when I say you are too young to harden yourself to the hell that is war. Give yourself to your lady instead."

The boy watched as Okita walked away, regarding his advice. Though they were on opposing sides, he couldn't find a desire to strike the man down. He didn't have the skill, he knew, but wasn't he supposed to harbor a deep and strong hatred for the Wolves of Mibu? He was afraid of them, that much was certain, but having met one, he was beginning to think differently.

They were only men. That was how he and the captain had met. As men. One walking a first love home, and the other, desperate to save the life of his. Maybe he shouldn't have shown him the way. That man was a Miburo. He should have let the girl die in his arms, watching as the dog of the Shongunate cried out in agony.

But he couldn't.

At sixteen years old, Omiro was not jaded enough to accept what war really was. Instead, in that moment that Okita had been begging him, the image of Hiroto dying in his arms had flashed before his eyes. The feeling that it had brought with it had made him sick to his stomach; he knew he would never be able to imagine what it was really like.

So he had helped them, only to discover that it was his own leader that had issued her death sentence.

Okita stopped then, turning back to them as if he had forgotten to say something.

"Don't forget to tell her you love her," he said throwing them an incredibly frightening grin, "you never know when some bastard will try to kill her."

xxxx

**Author's Note**: I promise everything between Saitou and Tokio will be okay. I do.


	17. Apology

_**Disclaimer**__: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs_

**Changes in Friendship**

_Chapter Seventeen_

Despite he aggravation towards her, Saitou found himself unable to release Tokio from his arms once they were home. Even as he stood explaining the entire situation to Kondo and Hijikata, he was holding her. Likewise, Tokio had no desire to be set down. There was a safety in him, something she was not used to craving. It didn't matter how upset either of them was; she just wanted to be near him. Forever.

When morning had come, Tokio found herself wrapped in his embrace still. Shifting herself carefully, she looked up at him, wanting to take in his image but she felt her guilt bubbling up. His face was drawn and dark circles were becoming visible under his eyes. Though he usually showed no sign that any of the world's events were bothering him, his guard was down and she saw in plain sight what she had done to him.

Perhaps if she had been more sensitive to his advances he wouldn't have been so stressed. If she had considered for one minute that he was a genuine man beneath his rough shell he wouldn't regret the time and energy spent on her.

Reaching up, she traced his features lightly with her fingertips. He was a magnificent creature, strong, chiseled, and with a distinct aura of power and authority. Even as hard as he was, he still went soft for her. How had she not noticed it before?

"I do," she whispered, running her finger along his jaw, "I do love you. More than you'll ever know."

As her hand traveled down his neck, she used her other to push aside the folds of clothing that stood between her and the flesh of his chest. It was a bold move, but she was a bold girl. He would be her husband someday; she was entitled.

Saitou felt her hands on his face, but made no movement, not giving her any indication that he was awake or aware. Just the feel of her fingers against his skin was setting his body aflame, but his mind was relaxed. She was exploring and he could picture her face, her brows furrowed tightly in concentration and her lips set in that determined line that he was so fond of.

He found it endearing the way she searched him with her hands, as a blind woman might. She didn't really know him and he wasn't the type of man to spill his deepest secrets at the drop of a hat. They both knew it would take a lifetime for her to understand.

But she was trying.

And then she said it, the words he had been needing to hear. Up until Tokio had entered his life, he had thought love to be entirely ridiculous and unnecessary. So long as a woman was agreeable, attractive, and able to manage basic domestic tasks, she could make a decent wife. Love was for storybooks and fantasies. Anyone who truly believed in it was doomed to walk a long path of eternal suffering, a path Saitou had no intention of ever taking.

But then _she_ had arrived all out of breath and demanding. She had marched right up to him, chest puffed out like a rooster and without any consideration for his status over hers, insulted him. She harbored no fear for him and even though in those first few moments, all he wanted to do was give her a swift strike with the back of his hand, he had found something about her rather amusing.

When he had walked her home, had lunch with her, and allowed her into his room that first night, his feelings of irritation had started to change into something a bit more kind. Respect had come first. He couldn't help but find her dedication to their friendship, as well as the friendship she shared with her mistress, incredible.

Then appreciation had made its way into his soul. It didn't matter what he had done, how he had done it, or why. She never judged him. It was strange even, that a woman of her background even had the desire to speak with a man like him. He was, in a sense, fighting against her people. But Tokio had seen through the colors he wore, the weapons he carried, and the blood on his hands. To her, he was nothing more than a man. For this, he couldn't have been more grateful.

Lastly, he had been hit with a rather sudden blow. She had been sitting up with him and as he polished his katana, she was brushing her hair, just minutes away from turning in for the night. It was nearing three in the morning; she had been late coming to him. He observed her as she ran the horsehair bristles through her curls, watching as they became soft and fluffy. Her movements were slow, yet rhythmic, as if this were the one activity she had done all day that benefited _her._

It was in that moment that he knew he could not stand idle while she wasted her life in servitude. He wanted to tell himself it was charity, that for the good of society, a woman as beautiful as she should not go unnoticed. Here he would not only be speaking nonsense, but he would be failing quite miserably at fooling himself.

The desire he had to control this emotion was unbearable. It beat down all of the walls he had spent his entire life building, and it flooded the deepest and darkest parts of his being. It was inconvenient, irritating, and ridiculously childish, but damn it all to hell it couldn't be helped.

Saitou Hajime had fallen in love.

And now as she whispered her feelings to him as she struggled with an apology, he knew he hadn't been wrong or mistaken in choosing her. He hadn't been a fool for giving away a part of him that most didn't know existed. He was hers just as much as she was his.

When the cold morning air hit his bare chest, it took much more focus to remain unmoving, to not let his mouth curl up into a grin. She _was _bold.

"Oh Hajime," she breathed, both hands splayed out across his strong body. Her lips parted and her eyes became sad as she took in the sight before her. As if he would break, she pulled her hands back.

Scars riddled his skin, most small and thin, each cris-crossing over the next, but there were several deep gashes that had healed slowly, a shiny new layer of flesh replacing what had been lost. She had never imagined him being injured and though the wounds were old and mostly forgotten about by him, Tokio felt herself begin to tremble.

Timidly she reached forward, suddenly afraid to touch him.

"It won't hurt."

Tokio froze, raising her face to his. He had cracked one eye open, watching her reaction to the marks his enemies had left on his body so many years ago.

"I-I'm sorry," she whispered, drawing her hand back, but he caught it, pressing it up against his heart.

"Don't ever be afraid to touch me," he told her.

The feel of his battered skin beneath her own rough hands, weathered by years of hard labor, sent a wave of realization through her body and before she could say anything, she began to cry.

"I'm so sorry, Hajime!" she sobbed, choking on her tears as they fell faster, spilling down her face and dripping off onto her arm.

He watched her as she cried and he didn't know what to do. A part of him was satisfied, glad that she was realizing how wrong she had been. She had offended him a great deal and she deserved to pay for it.

On the other hand, seeing her so beaten down, fist gripping the large hand that kept hers against him, begging for him to forgive her, was heartbreaking. It was breathtaking in the worst way and he wanted nothing more than to pull her close and assure her that everything would be alright.

But he didn't know that.

The frustration they both felt was much more than just hurt feelings. They had indirectly fell victim to a scheme that nobody could explain and the after effects were like thick vines wrapping around their necks, taunting them as they tightened, daring them to breathe.

"Why is all of this happening?" she asked shakily, calming herself slightly before another wave of sobs and hiccups crashed onto her.

He reached out to her, pulling her against him, and wiped the rivers from her face with his thumbs.

"It may get worse," he told her, "things can always get worse."

It wasn't the most comforting thought, but it was true. Any number of things could happen to any of them. Harada liked to say things had to get worse before they got better, but Saitou had taken a more realistic approach to unfortunate events. No matter how terrible something was, it could be worse and more likely than not, it _would_ be worse.

xxxx

The days that followed were the longest and quite possibly the most stressful days of Okita's life. He was glad to have his duties to distract him, but as much as he busied himself with, he always seemed to find himself at the hospital eventually.

Omiro and Hiroto had never failed to show. He was thankful for this, having someone to talk to while he waiting for any of the various nurses he had sent to come back with information on Shousha's condition.

Finally, after days of torture, a doctor came to him. The conversation (a detailed explanation of the new recipe Hiroto had discovered) halted immediately and Okita stood, trying to read the face of the old man before him.

"You may see her now."

With encouraging smiles and waves from the young couple, he followed the doctor through a series of doors before entering a large room with several patients. It was a recovery room and at this, he exhaled with relief.

"You are not her husband," the doctor observed, flipping through some paperwork.

"Ah, no," Okita admitted, "I am her. . .we live together."

Regarding this with a shake of his head, the doctor led him to a corner of the room where she lay asleep. Okita's heart soared and he knelt beside her, smiling as he took her hand in his. She was still pale, almost deathly so, but she wasn't grey any longer. Her lips were pink and he could see the blankets that covered her moving steadily with her breathing.

She was alive. She was recovering. She was going to be fine.

He turned over her hand to bring her palm up to his face when he saw them. Hundreds of tiny stitches running up the entire length of her forearm. The line was perfectly straight, the threads holding her flesh together completely uniform. He wanted to touch them, to feel that they were real, yet hoping he was hallucinating, but he didn't. His hands would never be clean enough.

The doctor cleared his throat then. "With rest and proper care, I am confident that she can make a decent recovery from this injury. There is, however, another matter I would like to discuss with you."

Okita looked up. The tone in the man's voice was ominous and he suddenly felt guilty, as if he had been caught doing something against some set of rules.

"You will be glad to know that we caught it at what seems to be the beginning stages," he went on, "but I regret to inform you that she has contracted a rather unfortunate disease."

Okita's heart slammed against his chest. He didn't want to hear it. He didn't _need_ to hear it. He already knew. It all made sense. The fainting, her lack of desire to eat, the nurse. That nurse who refused to give him answers. _Did she have a cough?_ she had asked. No. No! She hadn't!

Or had she?

Surely he would have picked up on it; he was sensitive to any indication of his illness. But he hadn't. In fact, it would have been quite easy for any coughing of hers to go unnoticed. He was a very busy man; they hardly spent more than an hour together and he suddenly realized he didn't know much about what she did or didn't do when not in his presence.

As the word slithered from between the doctor's teeth, _Tuberculosis_, Okita felt like he had been punched in the gut. He had been so foolish, so careless. He had spent his time showering her with affection and keeping her close that he had so blindly assumed that if she didn't know that _he_ was dying, she couldn't be hurt.

_I love her_. It was what he told himself every day. It was his reason for keeping her by his side, for doing his best to make up for the time he had kept himself away. What a fine show of love this was, infecting her with death itself.

He should have stayed away. He shouldn't have acknowledged her existence on the bench that night. He should have taken her to a doctor to check her head, not home. Not with him.

". . .and as we know little about it, we can not tell how long she might have."

It didn't matter what the doctor said. He knew it all. There was only so much medication could do. She needed to rest, not strain her body in any way. It could kill quickly or take its time. She could have months or years.

She could have weeks.

"Do you have any questions, sir?"

Okita stared at Shousha's face and shook his head, not trusting himself with words. The doctor left and his grit his teeth. He had never been the type of person to wallow in self pity, but as self loathing tore through his soul, he begged and pleaded with the gods.

What had they done? What horrible sin had they committed in their lifetime that the powers that be deemed they should meet nothing but suffering? Was this his punishment? Was his own illness not enough that he should watch the one he loved die as well? Was he such a bad man that those around him became sinners by association?

Why them? Why _her_?

He wasn't sure how long he sat there with her, emotions coming and going like the tide, before changing direction. He was angry, he was guilty, he was bitter, and he was devastated, but in the end, all he could feel was helpless.

"She looks good."

The words were soon accompanied by a hand on his shoulder and he looked up to find Saitou standing there, Tokio poking out from behind him.

"Is she going to be alright?" she asked.

"She'll be fine," he said softly, but Saitou caught the hesitation in his voice.

"Is there something we should know?"

Okita was unsure of what to say. He should tell them. He needed to tell someone. Someone had to care of her when he wasn't around. Who better than his and her own closest friends? But the guilt that ripped through him tore at his mask and he was afraid that if he spoke, his own secret would be exposed.

"Okita-san what's wrong?" Tokio's voice wavered and she searched him for answers. "She's going to be fine, isn't she?"

"Maybe not," he said after a while.

Saitou grunted. "Care to elaborate?"

Okita brushed a hair from Shousha's face, letting his knuckles linger against her skin. "She's sick."

Tokio put her hand to her chin in thought. "The flu? But here I'm sure they have good medicine and can heal her quickly, can't they?"

Okita sat back on his heels and looked at her. "She doesn't have flu, Takagi-san. She has consumption."

Not a second after he had finished speaking, all of the color drained from Tokio's face and she began to shake. Saitou noticed this and put his hands on her shoulders to keep her from falling.

"This can't be," she whispered.

Okita donned his mask, smiling at her gently. "It will be alright, Takagi-san. There is medicine-"

"Medicine won't do anything!" she cried, causing both men to jump. She freed herself from Saitou's hold, backing up and shaking her head at her friend.

"I won't go through this again," she said, seemingly on the verge of hysterics, before turning and running from the room. Dutifully, Saitou went after her.

Okita kissed Shousha's forehead, whispering, "I'll be back," before heading after the other two.

When he found them, they were outside and he shivered as the wind blew the cold air up his sleeve. He had left his coat inside.

"Tokio, _what_ is wrong?"

Saitou had his hands clamped on her upper arms, keeping her still as she fought against him. She was shivering too, no, she was trembling. Okita jogged over, peering over Saitou's bent shoulder.

"Is everything alright?"

Tokio whipped her head back and forth furiously and Saitou gave her a shake. "Stop that!" he barked.

Okita gave her a warm look, reaching out to her. "Don't worry Takagi-san. Shousha is a very strong woman."

"Strength has nothing to do with it," she snapped.

Didn't he know it.

Tokio was silent for a moment, biting her lip and looking towards the ground. She hadn't meant to yell at him. There was no doubt that he was in more pain that she was, but she couldn't help it.

"My mother could take on three grown men with her bare hands," she explained softly, "and even she couldn't fight it."

Both Saitou and Okita relaxed. So that was why she was so disturbed.

"You don't understand what it's like, Okita-san," she went on bitterly, "One day she was teaching me how to scale a wall and the next. . ."

"She was gone," Okita said softly.

Tokio shook her head. "No. She died slowly. But I'll never forget watching her die. I'll never forget listening to my own father cry himself to sleep night after night." She brought her arms around herself, whether to shut out the cold or keep her memories in, she didn't know.

"You just. . . couldn't understand."

Saitou turned to Okita, golden eyes flecked with the smallest trace of sympathy. "Prepare yourself."

To this, Okita smiled grimly. He was prepared. Far more prepared than he wanted to be. It may have been a losing battle, but he would greet it head on. He would keep her alive if it killed him.

Which, eventually, it would.

xxxx

**Author's Note: **There's a related one-shot about Tokio's parents up! Go read it! =P


	18. Healing

**Author's Note:** The backstory for Tokio's parents was well received! Thank you to all! :D

Phenitial- I'm so sorry! I get so caught up in ruining their lives that I forget to give them the time to actually be in love. D: I hope this chapter pleases you though :)

_**Disclaimer**__: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs_

**Changes in Friendship**

_Chapter Eighteen_

_ You need to take it easy._

That's what Kondo had told him, but Okita wanted to shake the advice from his head. He was just fine. His leader, however, saw through him.

"I understand that you deal with stress by working harder," he had told him, "but you're not well. Sooner or later it will catch you."

Okita was looking out at the snow as he took the reprimanding. He hated when Kondo pointed out that soon he would be incapable, but he knew it was only out of concern for his well being that he did so.

"I have a lot of things I need to do, Kondo-sama."

To this Kondo puffed out his chest authoritatively and crossed his arms. "You need to _rest_, Okita." He softened his expression then and he gave the young man a smile. "There isn't much going on right now. You can afford to relax. I doubt the Choshu will be so bold as to make another move so suddenly."

When the Shinsengumi had shown their offense at the attack on Shousha, the patriots had become quiet. Not distracted or mournful, the wolves, Okita and Harada in particular, had raised their hackles and bared their fangs, lashing out fiercely in anger, administering swift justice to those who had disrupted their pack.

"Will you tell her now?"

Okita turned to face Kondo and shook his head. He wouldn't let Shousha know that he suffered just as she did.

"That's good," said Kondo, nodding. "One thing I don't need is the two of you tripping over each other in a nursing competition."

It was a funny image and Okita knew it would have been true. As determined as he was to dote on her, to keep her happy and safe, she was just the same. If she had even the slightest inkling that he was sick, they would forever be swatting each other away, both trying to tend to the other, insisting that they themselves were perfectly fine.

He continued to ponder this, chuckling to himself as he strode through the halls en route to his room where he lad left her with fresh bandages, sleeping soundly. She had arrived home only this morning, having spent just over three weeks in that dreaded sick house, recovering from her injury and, of course, complaining how bored she was.

When he slid the shouji open she stirred and with a grimace, pushed herself up. She greeted him with a soft smile and he found himself unable to resist the urge to hold her. They hadn't been alone at all in the hospital, a steady stream of well wishers coming and going, making sure to keep her entertained and, most importantly, still.

Even Hijikata had spent a few days sitting by her bedside. This of course, had caused her much anxiety as he spent the hours with her staring at her, not making a sound, and almost daring her to move. It had proved, by far, to be the most effective way to keep her from tearing her stitches.

But now Okita was alone with her, something he had been aching for since he had first seen her, all pale and fragile in the recovery room.

Cradling her against his shoulder, he kissed her temple, allowing his lips to linger against her skin.

"You came for me," she whispered. "You found me."

"I thought I'd lost you, Shou-chan," he said softly, pulling her closer and rubbing his cheek against hers. "I could feel you leaving me."

She didn't say anything; she didn't have the energy at the moment, but she settled into his embrace, soaking in the feel of his arms around her. She knew that she was sick, dying even, and she wouldn't take a single second with him for granted. How could she? She had waited so long to be with him and now life had decreed that the sand in her hourglass was running out. It was so unfair, but she accepted it.

She had never accepted a loss of control before. Generally when her life got out of hand she panicked, had a tantrum, or ran away. For some reason, she felt a great desire to embrace this new enemy, whether it be to prove that she could overcome it herself, or to have an excuse to sneak away into the darkness when things got tough, she didn't know.

She was just about to open her mouth to speak, to say something of little meaning in order to start conversation, when he breathed into her ear.

"I love you, Shousha."

Her heart skipped a beat then before pounding furiously against her chest. What did he just say?

She had known it all along, she realized, but when he said the words, she felt her world come together. The way his gentle voice played against her face made her stomach flip flop nervously. He loved her. He really truly loved her above all others.

If she had been able to move, she would have danced.

She couldn't possibly have danced, however, because as Okita felt her heart racing against his own, he placed two fingers under her chin and lifted her face. He needed to look at her. He was a one woman man and yes, he was in love with his best friend. There was nothing that stood in their way now.

She was alive and she was healing. She may have been dying, but hell, so was he. He didn't have to tiptoe around her, even if he hadn't considered doing so before either. There was something he found suddenly satisfying about her contracting Tuberculosis.

_Let me bear your burden_ she had begged. He had resisted, dragging his heels and calling himself unworthy, filthy, and sinful. But now they were the same. She had, in true Shousha fashion, gotten her way after all and she didn't even know it.

He didn't have to be afraid of hurting her. He could kiss her until the sun came up and he would _enjoy_ it knowing full well that he had already caused all the harm he was capable of causing.

And he did just that.

He kissed her gently, he kissed her passionately. He held her forcefully, asserting his dominance and he lowered her into her back, feathering her jawline with the most delicate show of affection any man had ever shown a woman.

She hadn't been able to respond the way either of them wanted her to, but that would change with time. Her arms would heal enough that she could bend them again and when they did, he would let down his hair and invite her to do her worst.

"Oh Soushi," she sighed, staring up at him, looking down at her with his eyes shining so warmly with adoration. He was on all fours, knees on either side of her thighs, hands on the floor beside her head. His body wasn't touching hers; he wasn't dominating her, he was shielding her. Like this, she could see only him and tonight he was being selfish.

He smiled at her, running his thumb along her lips, swollen by his own. Her face was flushed and he took pride in this. No other man could make her feel the way he did. Not that any man had ever tried, he reminded himself, but it was a comforting thought nonetheless.

A thought that was rather _un_comfortable popped into his head then and he barely masked his own disappointment. No man had ever tried, but there was still one man out there somewhere that would eventually not only try, but have every right to do so.

Exhausted by his affections, Shousha was drifting off to sleep and Okita lifted his leg, swinging it over her body to meet its twin. He sat back on his heels, watching the woman he loved fall into a deep and blissful slumber.

What was he to do about this husband of hers?

He knew that he couldn't kill the man and not knowing who this mystery groom was, he felt no desire to do so. He wasn't a possessive man so dwelling on the thought of Shousha being carried off by a husband didn't cause him to become angered, but saddened. Depressed even.

Perhaps this fiancee was a wimpy noodle of a man. Maybe a simple threat would be enough to make him back out of the deal.

If that didn't work, there was one thing Okita had in his favor, and that was money. His family was very wealthy and as a high ranking officer and a skilled warrior, his wages were quite good. Saitou had bought Tokio, why couldn't he solidify his own relationship with a little bit of bribery?

He scratched his head. Maybe he shouldn't worry. It wasn't as if the man was just going to appear before them and wed her on the spot. Things simply didn't happen that way.

_He had time._

He jumped then as in her sleep, Shousha began to cough, wheezing slightly. She moaned softly as she fell back into a peaceful rhythmic breathing and Okita, with one finger, wiped her mouth of the blood that dripped down.

_Maybe._

The next morning he greeted her with a smile, sweeping her up into his arms before she had a chance to protest.

"I can walk, Soushi," she told him, kicking her legs back and forth slightly in demonstration. "It is my _arms_ that hurt."

He clicked his tongue at her and carried her out into the hall. "You're sick, Shou-chan. I don't want you using up any energy you don't have to."

At this, she laughed. He regarded a passerby with a nod before turning to her with a reprimanding look.

"You have a very serious disease. You shouldn't laugh about it."

She raised one of her arms and sliding her hand under his bangs, rested her palm against his forehead, pushing the hair up and out of his face.

"_You're_ sick," she began, "if you think this is going to kill me."

Unable to find her humor, he kept his face straight and stern. "Many people die from it everyday, Shousha."

"Yes, but all those people aren't me," she told him matter-of-factly, "I survived an assassination. If nothing else, I'm going to stay alive long enough to give Katsura exactly what he deserves."

Okita stopped dead in his tracks. It wasn't her confidence or arrogant statement that had surprised him, or her bragging about her survival, but her mention of the Choshu leader. No, it wasn't even her mention of him that had the hairs on his neck rising, but how flippant she had been. His name had rolled off her tongue so easily it was as if she'd been saying it for years. Katsura. Just Katsura. No preceding _that bastard_ or following _fellow,_ or _asshole_.

_Just Katsura_. As if she knew him.

"How do you know it was Katsura?" he asked. It was common knowledge that she had been attacked by Choshu, but they were a reckless group. Anyone could have done it.

"Was it he?" Okita pressed. He found it difficult to believe that the evasive leader would have ever done it himself, but he found himself overly curious.

"No," Shousha said, her smile fading, "but that man told me that it was Katsura who sent him."

"I'll get them" he vowed, continuing through the house, "both of them."

Happily, she rested her head against he shoulder, giving the underside of jaw a few nibbles. She hadn't any real desire to exact revenge on her ex-fiancee, but if Soushi wanted to end the man, she wouldn't complain. She had harbored a deep loathing for the bastard for nearly twenty years.

Prior to his decision to free himself of her, she hadn't had any solid reason for disliking Katsura Kogoro. She had met him only once, when she was but four years old. He might have been eight or nine, she didn't really remember, and she recalled him being an agreeable boy.

It wasn't until she had been old enough to grasp the meaning of marriage that she begin to detest him. It wasn't him exactly, but the idea that she had no say in who she would spend the rest of her life with irked her and he became guilty by association.

As she grew older, she had seen a glimpse of him once or twice and when she complained to her parents that she didn't want to be tied to someone so much older than her, they had been forceful with her, berating her for being ungrateful. Kogoro was a handsome and gentle man.

She was lucky.

But was she? When the war broke out and she caught wind of just who her intended had become, she seethed with anger, this time demanding that her parents marry them soon. It wasn't that she _wanted_ to be his wife, but if they married and he died, she would find herself a very happy woman indeed.

The longer her parents took to arrange the union, the more time she spent looking over her shoulder at every turn. Katsura was a killer and she wasn't too keen on the idea of meeting him unprepared. She soon found herself looking for him, hoping to see him so she could purposely avoid him and for a few moments, find herself at peace.

It really hadn't helped that at this point in her life, Okita had vanished. The Shinsengumi had been founded and the streets were no longer safe. With no one to protect or assure her, she fell into a world of terror and anxiety.

It was when she and Soushi had been reunited that her hatred for the Choshu leader had meaning. Fiercely, yet blindly loyal to her lifelong friend, she had disregarded the fact that Okita and Katsura were one in the same, but on opposing sides. To her and her naive soul, Katsura was trouble, a coward with too much blood on his hands.

If he was Soushi's enemy, he was hers as well.

While his display of shedding their contract from his shoulders should have pushed her over the edge and caused her desire to see his head on a pike to skyrocket, just the opposite happened. She felt nothing for him at all. She was completely free now.

This thought brought a wide smile to her face as she cuddled against Okita's warmth. Katsura thought she was dead. She was invisible now. She didn't exist. After all the years of being the center of attention growing up, it was incredibly refreshing.

"Where are we going, Ta-chan?" she asked as he strode proudly across the grounds with her in his arms.

"I don't trust you," he said playfully, "so I am going to keep you under my supervision until you are well."

Shousha lifted her head and let out a small snarl. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means," he explained as he stepped into the training hall, crowded with his morning students all waiting, some rather impatiently, for him to arrive, "that you'll be spending your morning here."

She looked around furiously, taking in the curious stares from the young men who were parting to let their teacher through. He couldn't be serious. wanting her to sit all morning in this sweaty hall with all these boys. When her eyes fell on the corner they were headed to, her face fell.

A futon had been laid out, tucked away from the activity that would soon take place and before it there was a breakfast tray. A stack of books sat next to it along with parchment, ink, and a set of brushes.

"You wouldn't make me sit here all day, Soushi," she whined.

He flashed his students a mischievous grin before passing the smile onto her. "Wouldn't I?"

Shousha scowled and moved to cross her arms, but thought better of it, gripping the front of his gi instead. "But I'm not even dressed."

"We have arranged for the wives to assist you, Shou-chan, don't worry."

She narrowed her eyes. "_We_?"

Okita looked surprised but relaxed into a soft chuckle. "Yes. We. We have all been plotting against you."

Setting her down onto the bed, he gave her cheek a warm caress. "Promise me you'll be good. I'm so worried my hair is turning grey."

This caused her to laugh and she reached for the food he had prepared for her. "Alright, fine. I'll do as you say."

Satisfied, he stood and addressed his students.

"This is my Shou-chan," he told them with a cheeky smile plastered on his face, "She is very badly injured and requires my supervision because she is headstrong and finds advice and concern for her well being offensive."

They all bowed lightly in greeting and she waved at them in turn, enjoying some of the horrified looks from the more faint hearted fellows.

"She will be here every day until I find that she is well enough to do otherwise. Should she prove to be a distraction, I will not hesitate to administer a series of rather unfortunate exercises to those of you finding your concentration to be a bit _off."_

_ "_Yes, sir," The echoed in unison, their instructor's beaming smile causing them all to feel very ill at ease.

It might prove difficult, Okita had admitted to himself, to keep the focus of adolescent boys when an enticing young woman was in the room watching them.

"However," he went on, "because you all make me proud, I would like to offer a bit of incentive."

Shousha looked to Okita wearily, balling her hands into fists. She hadn't liked the spark in his eyes when he had looked at her and said _incentive_. What on Earth was he up to?

He cleared his throat and when he spoke again, his voice was cheery and his smile was devious.

"Whichever one of you shows the most improvement at the end of today's lesson will receive a kiss from this lady."

"Soushi!"

He laughed, watching her face turn crimson with embarrassment and anger, but he only wagged a finger at her. "This is how it will be until you can learn to behave."

He knelt before her, both his hands covering her own trembling fists, and leaned forward, his lips just brushing her ear.

"I promise I'll make up for this tonight," he whispered, taking pleasure in the warmth he could feel emitting from her cheeks.

xxxx

Things had calmed down considerably after Shousha had come home and Saitou found himself to be less on edge. The wound in his relationship with Tokio was steadily healing. He had visited her father some days ago and received a bit of clarity on her upbringing. It had helped a great deal in pushing down his reluctance to forgive her.

"A letter for you, Saitou-san."

Looking up from the paperwork he was currently shuffling through, he grunted and accepted the note, tossing it over to Tokio who was sitting cross legged, laboring over a pair of hakama he had ripped the night before.

_Men,_ she was thinking as she stabbed her needle through the thick fabric. _Why do they resort to violence so quickly?_

"Read this to me, Tokio," he said absently, sending the letter sailing through the air and into her lap before returning to his task at hand.

With a tiny huff, she shooed it off of her repair. "Can't it wait?"

He looked up at her cocking his head. "It doesn't look very long."

"Fine, fine."

She picked the paper up, breaking the seal with her fingernail and allowing her eyes to scan the characters before her. Her face began to warm considerably and he snickered at her.

"Is my mistress sending me dirty notes again?" he asked.

She looked up at him and replied dryly, "I'd like for you to find another woman willing to deal with you."

Looking back down at the paper in her hands, she tried to come up with the words to tell him exactly what she was looking at. Or what she wasn't looking at.

"S-Saitou Hajime," she began, squinting at the ink. That's what it said, or at least that what she hoped was written there, as that's how she assumed a letter would generally begin.

"Spit it out woman," he ordered impatiently, "or have your eyes gone bad?"

"My eyes are fine."

"Then speak."

"I am speaking!" she said hotly.

Frustrated with her delay, he sighed bitterly. "Can't you read?" he asked, leaning forward, reaching for the letter, but she snatched it away.

"Of course I can read!" she snapped.

Saitou halted and a sly grin began to creep up his features slowly and maniacally. She couldn't read. The little minx who vexed him so with her all knowing attitude didn't know her letters. _How fun._

In on swift movement, he gripped her wrist and pulled the note from her hand. It was nothing more than a bill for several kimono he had ordered for her. Letting it flutter to the ground, he pulled her up to her feet and moved his face into her vision.

"Do you want to learn?" he asked, wolfish smile betraying his fierce voice.

She reached up and caught his chin in her hand, not allowing him the dominance he was about to show.

"I don't believe I could be a very good student," she told him, mimicking his wicked grin, "if my teacher insists on looking at me with desire in his eyes."

He backed away from her, shaking his head, but not losing the amusement on his face.

"You are trouble," he muttered, sitting back at his papers.

Tokio picked up her mending and resumed her stitching. "You wouldn't have me any other way."

"I would have you any way I choose," he replied, "and I will."

Her mouth dropped open and she jabbed her thumb with the needle. Crying out, she shoved the digit into her mouth, nursing it with a furrowed brow as Saitou silently celebrated his victory.

She would pay him back for his arrogance. Somehow.

xxxx

**Author's Note**: So they're safe and happy now. Which makes me bored. :|

For now. )


	19. Invitation

**Disclaimer**_: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs_

**Changes in Friendship**

_Chapter Nineteen_

It hadn't taken long for Shousha to adjust to her new life of following Soushi everywhere he went. After a week of refusing to let her walk, he had finally given in and allowed her independent mobility so long as she stayed with him.

She found it very difficult to complain, as she wanted absolutely nothing more than to spend all of her time by his side. Even the long mornings and equally lengthy afternoons in the training hall became less of a bore. She had taken up sewing in those hours and quickly found herself to be the resident seamstress with what seemed to be a never ending pile of uniforms to patch. This had been a huge relief to Tokio, whose fingers were about to fall off from doing just that.

Over time, Shousha had even made friends with some of Okita's students. He, of course, continued to use her to his advantage and every day she blessed a young man's cheek with a soft kiss, but that too had become good fun.

Tokio had pushed aside her fears for her friend's health and was proving to be a very excited bride, something neither she nor Shousha had anticipated. When they weren't drowning in chores, the two girls had their heads bowed together, pouring over fabrics and sketches of flowers.

Tokio had insisted upon a spring wedding, wanting to celebrate her marriage with the new year, but Saitou didn't share her enthusiasm for planning, or more specifically, _waiting_

They were going to have a lifetime together, he had argued, why wait a few more months? This, of course, had been Tokio's point exactly. They were going to share their lives, so a few months of waiting would amount to almost no time at all. Not wanting to push the issue, he had agreed. Women like her would always do what they wanted in the end anyway.

By the time February rolled around, Shousha's stitches had been long since removed and a new layer of skin covered the wounds. The scars were still relatively fresh and though she no longer required bandages and had full use of her arms, Okita still made it a point for her to be careful. There was no telling what might happen if she broke the skin.

Through all the commotion that was her daily life, there was one time that Shousha looked forward to more than anything and that was the evening. Whether it be after dinner or just before the night patrol, she could always count on the setting sun to give her time alone with Okita.

They often spent this time winding down from the day, as he noticed that without a period of calm, she was much more likely to suffer from attacks throughout the night.

"How are you feeling tonight?" he asked, taking a hairbrush from the vanity and settling behind her. He pulled the ribbon and watched as it fluttered to the ground in a soft pool of cream silk. Her straight hair fanned out slightly and when he began to run the bristles through it, she sighed.

"I'm fine," she replied closing her eyes. She loved when he brushed her hair, the way his fingertips brushed her neck ever so slightly when he gathered it together. Her whole life he was the only person she didn't have to prove herself to. She was allowed to be a simple minded female around him, letting herself enjoy being taken care of.

"It's almost spring," she said excitedly, bouncing slightly in her place. "I'm so excited for the New Years festivities."

"You shouldn't be out in such a crowd like that, Shou-chan," he told her smiling at her enthusiasm. "You've got to be careful."

Frowning, she fidgeted as the brush caught a knot. He muttered an apology before untangling it with his fingers.

"I'll be fine, Soushi."

"It's still cold outside," he said, "and you're sick."

She turned her head, looking over her shoulder at him. Holding the hairbrush in midair, he tilted his head.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"Stop saying that," she whispered.

He lowered his arm. "Saying what?"

She was facing him now, and took his face in her hands, looking at him with her brows furrowed angrily.

"Stop telling me that I'm sick."

He smiled, giving her cheek an affectionate stroke. "But you are, my love."

"I know I'm sick!" she snapped, causing him to draw back his hand. Hers were still on his face and he could feel her tense.

"I'm tired of hearing it," she went on, not breaking eye contact, "all day every day. You're sick, you're sick, you're sick! As if being sick makes me incapable of doing _anything_. How would you feel if you were me?"

He opened his mouth, but her question must have been rhetorical because she didn't give him a chance to answer.

"I _know_ I'm sick, Soushi. I feel it. I don't need you to remind me every chance you get."

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

He was sorry. He hadn't meant to annoy her or hurt her feelings, but he was so worried for her, he couldn't help himself. She was reckless and irresponsible. She was headstrong and naive. There was any number of things she could do to hurt herself and he had thought that his constant reminders had served as a light reprimanding, when in fact, she was right.

He _hated_ being reminded of his shortcoming. It wasn't often that it happened, as only Kondo and Hijikata knew of it, but even still, it hurt. When Kondo told him to rest, when Hijikata asked how he was feeling, it all made him feel like he was a burden. A liability.

Surely she felt the same. She wasn't a warrior, but she was accustomed to freedom. He had been treating her like a living doll for months now. She had bore it for him, and now he was surprised at how long that had lasted. Shousha's fuse was incredibly short.

"I don't want to survive," she said, "I want to_ live_."

He stared at her for a few moments, unable to come up with the words to properly apologize. Tokio had said strength made no difference, but it wasn't exactly true. His strength had kept him alive this long, and he knew that there would be an extent to which Shousha could fight as well. She wasn't fragile. She wasn't a doll or a deathly invalid. She was still Shousha, just as he was still the first captain of the Shinsengumi.

Pushing her hands off his face, he cupped hers, pulling him to her and pressing his mouth against her own. Her lips parted in surprise and, moving his hands into her hair, he dove in, not waiting for an invitation.

"I'm sorry," he murmured against her, using one hand to pull her onto his lap and the other holding the back of her head, "I am so sorry."

This was, by far, the best apology Shousha had ever received. When their lips parted and he moved to the pulse on her neck, her head lolled back and she let out a shameless noise of pleasure, fiercely gripping his shoulders. Her legs were splayed across his thighs and when he stood, using her bottom as leverage, she wrapped them around his waist.

By the time he had her against the wall, he had pushed her kimono from her shoulders and was tracing her collarbone with light flicks of his tongue. She was no longer a stranger to that warm sensation at her core, the raw and begging pull of desire that she felt for him, but because he was too good of a man, she still hadn't the slightest idea how to satisfy it.

"Oh Soushi," she groaned as his hands moved from her ankles, up her calves, and resting on her thighs, using this grip to keep her steady. The maneuver was completely unnecessary as she was completely pinned in place by his hips.

He grunted out something in reply that wasn't in the least bit gentlemanly and as she wiggled her dampening center against his now rigid manhood, his mind went white. One of his hands came out from under her clothing and his palm slammed against the wall by her head in attempt to keep himself steady.

Still trying to find a way to reach whatever it was she was reaching for, Shousha pulled at his hair and pushed herself against him. She _needed _to be one with him, and since that was physically impossible, she was determined to get as close to him as she could.

As he tore her from the wall and spun her around, there was a knock at the door, but neither of them heard it. He reached behind her, fumbling for her obi while she, for a reason unknown to her, furiously shoved his gi from his shoulders as they made their way to the futon. When the silk pooled around her waist, and she was bare before him, he stopped and inhaled sharply.

"Oh gods you're beautiful," he breathed.

"Shut up," she muttered, closing the distance between them and kissing him forcefully, taking his bottom lip in her teeth. "shut up, shut up, shut up."

He had never been so glad to comply.

Just as he tilted her in preparation to lay her down, the shouji snapped open.

"Really Okita, are you even list-"

For a split second, neither Okita, Shousha, nor Harada, had any words. And then that second ended.

Shousha screamed, pulling herself against Okita's body to shield her naked torso from sight.

Okita whipped his head to the doorway, face flushed with a mixture between passion and embarrassment. "Really, Harada-san!" he cried, not enjoying the way his voice addressed his friend so huskily.

Even Harada found himself to be slightly shaken up. As much as he knew otherwise, there was something so pure and innocent about his small friend that catching him in an intimate moment such as this seemed downright filthy.

"You could have _knocked_," Okita pointed out, pulling Shousha's clothes back onto her shoulders.

"I did knock!" Harada exclaimed, "several times! 'Snot my fault that you were too busy to hear it."

Shousha had her faced buried in her hands. This had happened to Tokio once, she recalled, but at least she had been seen by a stranger. Harada had seen her naked! He had seen her breasts! Her breasts which Okita had been- _Oh gods._ He _had_ been touching her that way.

"Hey listen, forget it," Harada said, stepping into the room, but Okita thrust out his arm.

"Don't come in here!" he said, "I'm not ready for that."

Harada held his hands up and backed away. "Alright alright, but you've gotta get yourself together. Kondo's called a meeting downstairs."

Exhaling, Okita began to help Shousha with her obi. "I'll be there," he said stiffly.

"Shousha too."

Pausing, he turned his head, giving his friend a questioning look, but Harada only shrugged.

"He requested that she be there."

When they arrived in the meeting room, Shousha realized she was the only woman in attendance. None of the wives were waiting on the men, and even Tokio had disappeared from Saitou's side. The men in attendance, most of them she had never seen before. They were all higher ranking samurai and most of them held private residences nearby.

Kondo and Hijikata sat at the head of the room and though there was never any expression on the vice commander's face, she didn't like the one that was set on Kondo's one bit.

"Now that we are all here," Hijikata began, "We have recieved some very distressing news."

Okita gripped Shousha's hand.

Kondo cleared his throat. "We have been invited to a New Years celebration at Yamata house."

Shousha sucked in her breath. A buzz broke out among the men, but Kondo held up a hand to silence them, giving the floor to Hijikata.

"We all know what sort of family that Yamata is," he started, "and they can not be trusted."

"Present company excluded," Kondo added with a nod in Shousha's direction.

"We have managed to get our hands on the full guest list and have discovered that there are many Choshu names appearing on it."

"Will Katsura be there?" Harada asked, crossing his arms, "I'd like to get my hands on the bastard."

"Calm yourself, Sanosuke," Hijikata replied before going on. "Though we are unaware of Yamata's motives, you can be sure that they intend to play with both of us, Shinsengumi and Choshu alike."

"Well we don't have to go then," a man from somewhere in the crowd said. "It's just a party."

"Just a party maybe," Hijikata agreed, "But we have already fallen out of favor with the people. Blatant snobbery will not assist us in our cause. This event will be highly publicized for obvious reasons alone."

Shousha stood then, shaking her head. "But won't there be fighting? Isn't accepting the invitation a death trap?"

Not impressed by her rudeness, the vice commander turned to Kondo, wishing for him to deal with the chit.

"Shousha, do not worry yourself so," he told her, "There will be bloodshed, you can be sure of this, but in a room filled with women and children? I think not so much. Which brings me to my other point.

"Because this will be a situation in which no one could possibly have an upper hand, we will be going in blind. I have no intentions of losing all of my men over some silly festival, so I am giving each and every one of you the choice to attend or not. Additionally, this, as stated in the invitation, is a family event. Your wives are welcome to join you, but please consider carefully."

The deep hum of conversation erupted in the hall as the two leaders swept from the room and Shousha turned to Okita, all thoughts of her humiliation tucked away deep in her mind.

"Why would they do this?" she asked, a sick feeling rising in her throat.

He smiled at her gently. "It could be worse. Like Kondo-sama said: we don't know what to expect. It might not be so bad. Individually, men are just men."

She shivered. There was no use trying to talk him out of going; he was far too loyal. "But they'll plan something. I know they will."

"And so will we," he told her, "but I'm sure they are just as in the dark as we are."

"What if they aren't!" she cried, but he placed two calming hands on her shoulders.

"Shou-chan, you forget who we are. We won't be felled by a silly party."

Kondo appeared then and requested Shousha follow him. She did so and when they were alone, he let out a ragged sigh.

"Shousha. This situation is personal for you, I'm afraid, so I am going to humbly request that you do not attend the party with Okita."

"It's not personal," she said, "I've cut all ties to Yamata house."

"Yes," he agreed, "but it is also out of concern for your well being that I ask you to stay home. I can promise you that there will be blood. When the time comes for him to fight, I do not want you to be left alone and defenseless. I have already spoken to Saitou on the matter regarding his fiancee."

Shousha considered this for a minute. While it was very kind of Kondo to want to protect them, she couldn't accept it.

"But Kondo-sama, no one knows that house better than I do. Tokio knows it almost as well as myself. Wouldn't our knowledge of the building be advantageous to you?"

"You may lay out a blueprint for me in the com-"

"With all do respect, Kondo-sama," she interrupted, eyes flashing slightly. She would not be held back because of her condition, or her sex for that matter. "Soushi and I are not married. I am an independent woman and even though my loyalties lie with you, I do _not_ work for you and therefore am not under your command. I will be attending the party and you can be sure that Tokio will have the same opinion as I do."

This left Kondo unsmiling. "Why are you so adamant about going, Shousha? Are you that determined to be uncontrollable?"

"It's not that," she said, softening her tone a bit, "it is simply that I can not sit around doing nothing while Soushi fights."

"There is little you can do."

"But I can _be_ _there_ for him," she pressed. "and I will."

Accepting that he was not going to win and his advice would not be taken, he gave her a stern look.

"Do not give me a reason to say 'I told you so,'" he warned.

She nodded. "So long as Kanako and Mori behave, I will behave."

That seemed to appease him slightly and he dismissed her. There was a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach and he wondered if he should disregard the invitation after all. To hell with public opinion. Appearing at one well to do party was not going to gain them any support. Still, the idea that Katsura might be thinking the same way he was kept his resolve strong.

It wasn't likely, but he just might be able to see the bastard in public.

xxxx

"I don't like this at all, Shou-chan," Okita whispered into her ear as they ascended the steps of Yamata house. There was still a frigid chill in the air at night and he had desperately begged her to stay at home. She might have felt perfectly fine, but catching a cold could very well do her in.

Once inside, they greeted their hostess, and Kanako gave a small disapproving huff upon seeing her daughter, but ignored her otherwise. It was when she saw Tokio that fire rose up in her eyes.

On the arm of her fiancee, Tokio wore a simple pink kimono with pale green bamboo shoots painted delicately along the hem and sleeves. Though its design was simple, the quality was unmistakeable, as was the satisfied smirk that Saitou displayed. Kanako seethed. She had been duped.

The party itself was booming, but all the chatter that was floating around was amiable and celebratory. There were so many people that it was almost impossible to distinguish Choshu from Shinsengumi, especially since everyone was in civilian clothing. The tension, however, was almost tangible.

Waitresses served trays of food, and there was a never ending flow of sake for those who found it in themselves to drink. There was music, dancing and decorations, all in keeping with tradition despite the home's decidedly untraditional structure.

"They're as flashy as always," Okita chuckled as he settled into a chaise on the perimeter of the ballroom.

Shousha joined him, folding her hands in her lap and staring out at the crowd. "Some things never change."

She didn't want to admit it, but she was feeling faint. It was hot and noisy in this house but she was determined to stick it out.

"You look pale, Shou-chan," he said, holding out a small plate of food he had taken from one of the traveling servers, "you should eat."

"I'm fine."

"Are you enjoying yourselves?"

A shadow loomed over the pair and at the cold and snide tone, they both looked up. Okita with a polite smile, and Shousha, with disdain.

Mori.

"It is a very lovely celebration, Yamata-san," Okita said happily.

Shousha didn't say anything.

"I'm very glad you came here on your own, daughter," he said, stepping forward, "I did not have to send anyone to hunt you down."

She scoffed. "What could you possibly need me for?"

"It is time."

Immediately, she snapped her head up and whatever color had been present was quickly lost. Surely he didn't mean. . .

"He is here. You should go to him." Mori paused to give Okita a victorious grin, "your groom."

Unconsciously, Okita gripped one of Shousha's hands. This couldn't be. People didn't simply just _show up_. He had time. He needed time.

"I won't go."

Mori's eyes twinkled with delight. "You will go," he began slowly, "if I have to drag you there."

She lifted her colorless chin but despite her show of confidence, her voice was shaking. "You wouldn't. You have no reason to."

Just to show her that he was still in control, Mori snatched her wrist, yanking her from Okita's hold and forcing her to her feet.

"If this will have you in agony for the rest of your days it is reason enough."

"No-"

But he was already off, storming into the crowd. Her wrist was firm in his grip and she dug her heels into the floor, pulling back, but to no avail. She was not strong tonight, and her father was incredibly so.

"Soushi!" she screamed, panic causing her voice to crack. Bodies bumped against her own, tossing her to and fro as she thrashed from side to side.

Okita was right behind her, jogging to keep up with Mori's determined pace.

"I won't let him give you away," he promised, bringing his hand around her upper arm.

"Not him," she begged, frantically trying to rip her arm from the shackle that was her father's hand, "_anyone_ but him!"

They were gaining curious onlookers as she continued to scream and fight, her words escalating into vulgar curses and soon, incomprehensible shrieks. Okita did his best to reassure her as he was pulled along, but his words fell on hysteric ears.

Tired of her senseless screaming, Mori stopped short, pulling her up to his face.

"Shut your mouth, girl," he snarled, "you had this coming, tramping around with trash like him!"

Tears streaming down her face, she felt her body weakening and slowly going limp. The tug that gravity had on her bore down on Mori's strength as well and he lowered his arm slightly.

"Please don't do this," she whimpered.

Okita was forcing down the anger building within. Her father had caught her off guard. Was this, too, thought out and planned? It would be easy for Mori to kill two birds with one stone in an act like this. He would be able to revenge on his daughter and disrupt Okita's equilibrium, therefore putting the Shinsengumi out of balance.

Shousha's hysteria was not putting his mind at ease in the slightest. When they had mentioned her being engaged before, it had always been a mood killer, but she had never displayed fear. She hadn't displayed much of anything except an unwillingness to tie herself down to someone she didn't know.

But how much didn't _he_ know?

_ "Not him! Not him!_" she was crying.

Mori didn't listen, and when he halted a second time, he shoved her into a small group of people. She stumbled forward, hands outstretched and it was the solid chest of a man that broke her fall. Looking up, she screamed, tripping over her feet as she scrambled backwards as if he were poison.

Okita caught her gently, but when he saw the face of the man staring at her as if she were a ghost, his mind went blank. Time slowed then and he felt his entire life fall away from him right before his eyes.

Frozen in terror, Shousha could do nothing but whimper. She had dreaded this day all her life, but had never considered that it could actually happen. Yet it had come.

For the first time in near twenty years, Yamata Shousha and Katsura Kogoro stood face to face.

xxxx

**Author's Note:** Ah, that's more like it.


	20. Arrangement

**Author's Note: **Sorry this one took so long. I rewrote it like a billion times. Okay maybe not a billion, but there was a lot of backspacing going on.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs

**Changes in Friendship**  
_Chapter Twenty_

With his cup of sake poised just below his chin, Katsura stared at the woman who had been shoved into his vision. Harada Sanosuke was just in front of him and the two had been tossing polite conversation back and forth, both waiting for the other to slip up.

"So you and Ikumatsu were going to be. . ."

"Married. . ." Katsura replied, not even hearing his own words. "in the. . . summer."

Harada turned his attention to the scene before him and though he didn't fully grasp what was happening, dropped his facade. He had never expected for Shousha to come into contact with the Choshu leader, but he didn't find her reaction surprising. He had, after all, tried to kill her.

What disturbed him was Okita's face. Pale and drawn, he suddenly looked like death itself. _This_ wasn't fear. The Okita he knew didn't fear a thing in the world. This was something bigger than fear.

"How extraordinary," Katsura mused as he reached his hand out to touch Shousha's face. She let out half a gasp before turning and burying her face into the crook of Okita's neck.

"It's like you've come back from the dead."

Harada snarled at him. "Surprised, Katsura? Your plan failed."

"So it would seem."

Mori cleared his throat then, stepping into the group. "Katsura-san. It has been some time, but I do believe you are aware of the arrangement your father and I had."

Giving his host a polite nod, he placed his empty cup on a passing tray.

Okita couldn't move. It was all so clear now, why Shousha avoided any mention of her betrothed. What would he have done? How would he have reacted? What would Kondo say? He didn't know. It was all so ludicrous that he couldn't even pull up a hypothetical situation to place himself in.

_ Shousha? Marry Katsura? Don't be ridiculous_. It was all his mind could say.

At the same time, his heart was like lead in his chest and his throat had gone dry. He held her tightly only because it was reflex. He couldn't even bring emotion forth to glare at the man before him. It was like he was a spectator in his own nightmare. He was trapped. Rooted.

Harada stepped forward, understanding the events that were about to unfold. Hijikata had come to observe the commotion and he could hear Tokio somewhere in the background urging Saitou to move faster.

"You think you have rights to this little missy?" he snarled, puffing out his chest. It wasn't just that they were on opposing sides; Harada had a natural distaste for this man. He was always so calm, so sure. He was politely condescending and humbly arrogant; Harada had a difficult time with such contradictions.

Katsura regarded him with a politely absent look. "Harada-san, perhaps you should take up conversation with your comrades. I believe I have some business to attend to."

"After what you did?" he challenged.

Katsura gave him an amused smile. "A contract is a contract. Unfortunately we don't have complete control over our fates."

"Damn right you don't," Harada bit off, reaching for his sword. He didn't often use it, but had been unable to bring his spear with him.

"That would be most unwise," Katsura noted, raising his brow at the ready stance Harada had adopted,

"Enlighten me."

"As this matter holds no political motive or merit, it seems that you are taking a rather," he flicked his eyes towards Hijikata, "_personal _offense to my affairs."

Teeth bared, Harada forced his hand down to his side. They were being played. Katsura was making a fool of all of them.

"So then," Mori continued, taking pleasure in the sparks flying between the two, "you intend to honor this agreement?"

Shousha's sobs came to a halt and she looked up and turned. Her father was eagerly awaiting the answer he knew was coming, and Katsura was watching her intently, still amusedly shocked that she was standing before him.

Maybe he was merciful. She had been told her entire life that he was a kind and gentle man. Surely he would understand. She was in love with someone else. He too had a woman he had chosen. She was right there, standing proper and beautiful by his side.

Stepping away from Okita, she returned the gaze of her intended.

"Please," she whispered, her voice refusing to do much else. "please say no."

She reached out to him and though she cringed as he took her hand, she didn't break their gaze. As he held her firmly, but carefully she continued to whimper, shaking her head.

"Don't make me do this."

He smiled at her gently then and tightening his grip on her hand slightly, turned to Mori.

Shousha's heart stopped.

"I fully intend to honor your arrangement."

Then shattered.

"No!" she cried, snatching her hand back. He watched her, but made no move to stop her.

Okita's hands balled into fists at his side. His well trained, honorably elegant warrior's spirit disappeared, replaced by something much more primitive. At that moment, he didn't want to end this man with his blade. He wanted to shove him down and beat him with his own bare hands.

Who did he think he was? This wasn't how life went. Grooms didn't just _show up_. They didn't come out of nowhere and marry on the spot. It wasn't supposed to happen that way. It wasn't supposed to happen at all.

That smile, the small upturn of the mouth that he was displaying made Okita sick. It wasn't cocky or smug. It was just polite, as if to say,_ I am happy to uphold the honor of my family._

Bullshit.

A petulant boy rose up in Okita's soul and he felt the overwhelming desire to point at the man and scream, "You have your own woman! You can't have mine too!"

But he didn't. He couldn't. Katsura _could_ have them both, and as it seemed, he would.

Saitou and Tokio arrived on the scene and with narrowed eyes, Saitou addressed Okita.

"What is going on here?"

"Shousha's getting married," Harada replied darkly when Okita made no move to speak.

Tokio clapped her hands together excitedly. Saitou's hand on the back of her neck, however, directed her attention to her friend who was standing wide eyed in the middle of the small circle, sending pleading looks to all those around her.

Tokio glanced then at the small captain next to her and the fury on his face sent chills up her spine. That look didn't suit him. It wasn't natural.

"Please," Shousha was begging, "please help me."

Okita swallowed as she took his hands.

"Soushi. Please." her voice was shaking and when he looked up to face her, she was crying again. "Don't make me go."

As he squeezed her fingers in his own, he could only shake his head. "There's nothing I can do."

"You said you would fight for me," she said, desperation cracking through her whisper. "you told me you would protect me."

His failure pierced him and he forced himself away from her. He couldn't even manage an apology. What good would it do? She had been stolen from beneath his nose. If he couldn't keep her safe under constant watch, what more could he do?

Katsura stepped forward then, taking hold of her wrist. They wouldn't have a ceremony, but there was paperwork to be filled out. The sooner it was over, the better.

"Let me go!" she screeched, slapping at his arm. "Get your filthy hands off of me!"

"We must go now, Shousha."

"Help me!" she cried, turning back to Okita. "Please!"

When he hung his head, hiding his features, she fought back a new onslaught of tears, scanning the group before her.

"Somebody. Please." But no one moved. Tokio looked as if she might spit fire, but Saitou's hold on her was far too forceful for her to do anything rash.

"Hijikata-san, Saitou," Shousha's eyes fell on Harada, her dear friend, the man she easily considered a brother. "Sanosuke. . ."

But even he just turned up his palms at her. "Our hands are tied, missy."

When Katsura and Mori led the wailing girl away, the woman who had been at Katsura's side stepped forward, bowing politely to the group.

"My sincerest apologies," she said softly before turning and mixing in with the crowd.

Okita felt weak. Physically weak. Normally he would have blamed it on his illness and dismissed it, but he knew that no disease, no matter how advanced, could hold a candle to the pain whipping through his body at that moment.

The room was spinning and as he groped for equilibrium, he felt two hands on his shoulders, guiding him out of the room.

"Sit down," Harada told him gruffly, "you look like you're gonna puke."

"I might," Okita admitted, feeling a flash of sickly heat coming over him. He obliged, glad for the obnoxious velveteen bench on the hallway and the cool marble of the wall behind it.

"I knew those fuckers were up to something," Harada growled, resisting the urge to put a hole in the wall with his fist, "of course Yamata would make a big show of things."

Okita said nothing, closing his eyes. He wished the party would end soon. Memories were floating around before his eyes and he needed a distraction. He needed a battle.

xxxx

Shousha stared down at the paperwork before her. Her eyes had run out of tears and now burned dry and red. Katsura stood next to her, casting reassuring glances her way. He had already done his signing, but she couldn't bring herself to do hers. She had tried to resist, but it had only resulted in several daze inducing blows from her father's hand.

If she put this brush to the parchment below, she would forever be free of her parents' house, but she would belong to Katsura's. More so, she would belong to_ him_.

"I can't," she said quietly. "I can't do this."

"You'll do it," Mori snarled as he came across the desk, "if I have to hold your hand and make you do it."

"I won't. I just won't."

As he always did, her father made good on his threat. With a crushing grip on the hand that held the brush, he pushed her arm towards the paper. With a small shriek, Shousha pushed herself against him, but her effort was thwarted when he used his torso against her back to pin her against the desk. The edge of the large table slammed against her ribs and she coughed as her breath left her. Several drops of blood splattered against the family register.

Once it was signed, he released her, stepping away.

"You are no longer my problem," he told her icily as she collapsed to the floor, gasping for air.

Katsura bent down, extending his hand towards her. "Come now. Let's go home."

_ Home_.

Shousha eyed the door. It was unlocked. She could escape. She could go home.

With one last burst of energy, she shoved her husband's hand away and bolted towards the exit. Throwing open the large oak, she tore down the hallway. Even if she didn't make it home, she could see Soushi again. If she could only see him.

She rounded a corner, ducking into a servants hall. Mori was after her, furious, and Katsura was behind him, chuckling at her determination. Not finding any amusement in the situation, Shousha hurried down the passage, bursting out the other side. Her lungs burned and she paused, using the wall as support as a coughing fit threatened her ability to stand.

When she took off again, her pace was slower, but she could hear the hum of the celebration. She was nearing the ballroom where she would be able to find refuge in familiar faces. When she turned down yet another hallway, this one much bigger, she saw him.

"Soushi!"

Okita turned, having finally risen from his spot on the bench, and his eyes widened. She was here, before his eyes. He could see the tears brimming in her eyes, but he smiled gently as she fell into his arms.

"Oh Soushi!" she wept, clinging to his neck, "don't make me go. Please don't make me go."

Holding her tightly, he grit his teeth. This was the last time he would ever see her. What was he supposed to say?

"I love you," he whispered as he stroked her hair, "remember that always."

Choking out a sob, she nodded. He pulled himself away so he could see her face. He wiped her tears with his thumbs and smiled wistfully.

"You have to be strong for me, Shou-chan."

"I can't," she protested weakly. "how can I be apart from you?"

"Promise me," he pressed, "promise me that you'll be strong."

She closed her eyes and he brought her to him again, pressing his lips to the top of her head. They weren't supposed to say goodbye this way. He was supposed to go. He did the leaving.

Mori and Katsura caught up to them and when Mori raised his fist against his daughter, Katsura intervened, coming between the two and catching the man's arm with his own.

"You will not lay another hand on this woman," he said simply, using his strength to encourage Mori to back away.

"Are you blind?" Mori spat, "Look at her, in the arms of another man!"

Katsura crossed his arms, standing his ground. "With this union you surrendered any authority over her. If you question my approach to marriage, perhaps you shouldn't have been so hasty in fulfilling the contract."

"But-"

"Let her have her farewell."

Seeing that he wasn't about to budge, Mori sent the trio a scathing look. "Do not come to me when-"

"You can be assured that your assistance will not be needed," Katsura said cooly. He may have agreed to marry this man's daughter out of respect for his father's wishes, but he was in no way going to partake in the unnecessary destruction of what was going to be left of her spirit.

Mori stormed away and Katsura turned, reaching out for Shousha's elbow. He was thankful that he didn't have to pry her away from Okita's body, as the smaller man was giving her a reluctant, yet firm nudge away from him.

She protested slightly, stretching her arms towards him as Katsura gathered her into his arms. Silently, Okita savored the warmth of her hand in his before she slipped out of his grasp forever.

Without so much as a nod, Katsura headed back down the hallway where he would slip out of the house unnoticed. Okita watched him go and tried to block out the sound of Shousha's desperate cries for him not to abandon her.

"Wait!" he called out, digging in his sleeve for something. When the Choshu leader paused and turned, he jogged over, pulling out a black cashmere scarf.

"It's still cold outside," he said with a shaky smile, wrapping her in it. His hands were shaking and his bottom lip trembled, but he continued to smile. With a small whispered apology, he squeezed the pressure point at her neck and she fell limp in her husband's arms. It would be better this way. She wouldn't hurt herself.

With a small shake, Okita dismissed his sorrow, regaining his steely spirit and lifted his chin to level his gaze with Katsura.

"The next time we meet," he told him icily, "I will kill you."

Katsura regarded this with a gentle nod. "I do not doubt it."

Casting one last hateful glare at the man, he darted away. The fight was about to begin.

Once on the streets, Katsura welcomed the presence of Himura Kenshin who had been waiting in the shadows for his leader to emerge. Upon seeing the unconscious female in his arms, he craned his neck slightly in question, but remained silent.

"Things didn't go as planned," Katsura admitted.

Himura nodded. That much was obvious.

"Ah, but now I find myself married. What is a man to do?"

The Battousai raised an eyebrow. "This girl?"

Katsura sighed. "I'm afraid so. She's feisty and headstrong, so I am curious as to what the morning may bring."

"She's only a woman."

This brought a small chuckle from the leader. "One thing you must understand about wolves, Himura, is that the females are just as ferocious as their male counterparts, oftentimes more so."

Himura looked over at her once more before returning his gaze back to the streets. So it was she. The life he spared.

xxxx

Exhausted in every way, Okita collapsed onto his futon. It wouldn't matter. Sleep wouldn't come. He had to accept this just as he accepted ever other challenge life threw him. He should have been thankful. She was gone, but she was still alive. That had to count for something.

Through the walls, he could hear Tokio's heated words as she fought with Saitou. With a soft groan, he stood. Tensions were high everywhere tonight. It wouldn't do them any good to be at odds over something out of everyone's control.

Wearily he headed over to their room, hesitating when he reached the door frame.

"I can't take it anymore!" Tokio screamed.

Saitou stared at her, arms crossed over his chest. She had been yelling all night and nothing he said was calming her down. He understood her panic, but her inability to get ahold of her emotions was grating on his nerves.

"You saw it, Hajime! You saw them take her away!"

"Tokio, we have no right to interfere in the personal business of others."

"What about the Shinsengumi!" she cried, throwing her arms up, "don't you have a duty to protect your own? Would you let me go so easily?"

Saitou softened his expression. "Shousha was never ours."

Furious, Tokio shoved his chest. He took it, allowing her to use his body as a punching bag. She wasn't strong and it didn't hurt. If this was what she needed to calm herself, he would let it happen.

From outside the shouji, Saitou's words echoed in Okita's mind. _Shousha was never ours_. She was never his.

"Okita."

Hijikata stood behind him and Okita turned, greeting his vice commander with a smile.

"Hijikata-san."

"We're going out. You need to clear your head."

Okita smiled gratefully, putting on his pleasant air. "I'm quite alright, Hijikata-san. A bit shocked, but just fine. Besides, it's late."

The stoic man before him saw through the pathetic line the first captain had been able to use so convincingly in the past.

"This is not a request, Okita."

Unable to argue, he allowed himself to be led from the dojo.

Once the two men were seated at a small table in a tiny restaurant, Hijikata poured the sake he had ordered.

"Drink."

Okita shook his head. "I don't feel-"

"_Drink_."

So he did.

Hijikata watched as his small friend put back cup after cup of the liquor. He needed to let it out. Keeping these frustrations within himself would only cause one distraction after another. They couldn't afford distractions.

More than that, however, they had grown up together. They were friends. As stiff and unfeeling as Hijikata may have appeared, he did care for his friends and he truly felt sorry for the man across the table. He himself had never been in love and he didn't intend to subject himself to the feeling, but he had seen enough of it to know that it existed. He also knew that losing it was unbearable.

It wasn't until Okita lay face down on the table that Hijikata stopped ordering. He waited patiently. The words would come. Drunk men always spilled secrets.

"It could have been anyone else," Okita said finally, staring at his hand, bringing it to his face and then pulling it away, amazed at the phenomenon that was depth perception and his current lack of it.

"I could have surrendered her to anyone else."

Hijikata watched intently, having no input just yet.

"Twenty years," Okita groaned, waving to himself, "twenty years of loving her and I'll never see her again."

"Do you feel it was wasted?"

Drunk, he lifted his head just enough to give his vice commander a sad look with his vacant and glassy eyes. "Not wasted, Toshi-kun. Never wasted."

Allowing the childish nickname to slide, Hijikata poured himself a drink. Okita's eyes were becoming heavy and he watched him struggle to keep himself awake. He was mumbling to himself, still fascinated with his hand, and occasionally pounding his fist on the table.

Hijikata sighed. Recovery was not going to be easy.

xxxx

**Author's Note:**In the coming chapters, you might come to hate me. I'm okay with that, I think. I do promise that in the end I will redeem myself. (at least I hope to)

Also in these coming chapters, I can not be held responsible for any attachment you might find yourself having to Katsura. :3 I, too, find him incredibly hard to resist, especially as a husband *swoon*


	21. Morning

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs

**Changes in Friendship**  
_Chapter Twenty One_

Morning hadn't been kind to anyone at the dojo. Tokio had exhausted herself well into the night and Saitou had eventually left the room to pursue silence. Not having slept at all, Harada was sulking in the courtyard, furious with himself for letting Katsura make a fool of him.

Even Kondo was fighting regret. He should have been more forceful with the girl. Shousha was adamant about doing things her way, she always had been, but this time she had landed herself into a pile of trouble that she would have to get out of on her own, if she could even find a way to do so.

Okita was the only one who refused to let his feelings show. The sooner he convinced everyone that he was fine, the easier it would be for them to move on. Maybe he was being selfish, but he didn't want the entire Shinsengumi mourning with him. _He_ had just been dealt the most crushing blow. _His_ life had been destroyed.

On top of that, he didn't like the pitying stares or the gentle hands on his shoulder whenever he walked by. He wasn't weak or incapable. His heart might have been laying somewhere on the streets of Kyoto, trampled by the many feet of the Choshu, but through the settling dust, it was still beating.

He was still a warrior.

He couldn't, no, he _wouldn't_ let this take away from what he had sworn he would do.

His head pounded as he made his way to the training hall. He was late, it was unlike him, but he had drank far too much the previous night and was paying the price for it now.

"My apologizes," he said cheerfully as he stepped into the room. To his surprise, Hijikata was there, already putting the boys through a series of rigorous exercises. Many of the students looked relieved when they saw their instructor enter.

"Sensei, where's your Shou-chan?" one of them asked, scanning the room for his teacher's shadow.

"Silence!" Hijikata barked, "Mind your business!"

Okita pushed away the hurt in his eyes and gave the vice commander a small chuckle. "Thank you for beginning the class, Hijikata-san."

Hijikata stared him down then flicked his gaze towards the terrified young men all doing their best not to step one toe out of line lest they suffer the wrath of the demon.

"I'll be taking on your lessons for the next few days. Entertain yourself elsewhere."

"That won't be necessary, Hijikata-san."

"It is quite necessary," he replied with little emotion, "These boys have grown rather attached to your _incentives_. It will benefit everyone if you take some time for your personal affairs."

Okita steeled his jaw and bristled, but didn't argue. His ego had taken a blow and when he left the hall, he was sweeping through the house, arms crossed and with a rather sour look on his face.

Incapable.

Was that really what everyone thought of him? Did they doubt him that much? He thought he had done quite a good job of proving that a man could be romantic and sentimental, yet still hold a position of remarkable strength. Surely he wasn't wrong.

He came across Saitou in the courtyard and when they stopped before each other, Okita didn't even grace him with a greeting.

"Spar with me."

Saitou raised an eyebrow, but agreed willingly. He was always glad to put his abilities up against Okita's; a more intense training he couldn't ask for. They could easily spend hours without so much as a scratch on either body and that was exactly what they did.

The stress of losing Shousha had turned into a white rage within Okita and Saitou was the only man he could spar with using all of his intensity and fury but not worry about fatally injuring him. He was also the only man who wouldn't hold back in his time of despair. Saitou may have recognized and respected his friend's grieving, but he knew it didn't belong on the battlefield and that was the mindset Okita needed to put himself in.

"You're reckless today, Okita," Saitou noted as their blades clashed.

"Katsura stole my Shou-chan," he hissed in reply, "and Hijikata stole my students."

Pulling back, Saitou looked down at the smaller man. It was a rare occurrence for him to drop an honorific.

"Clear your mind. You're in a fantasy world right now."

Okita lowered his weapon. "I want her back," he said coldly. "I will take her back."

To this, Saitou narrowed his eyes. "I said clear your mind. Revenge makes a man sloppy."

_Right_, he thought as he jumped back to a defensive stance, forcefully blocking Saitou's blow. Seeking revenge would get him nowhere. How many foolish men died every day because they were seeking revenge on someone? More specifically, the Shogunate. Okita wasn't the type of person to put blinders on in any situation. Why should this be any different? He needed to carry on, to continue living life as he swore he would. Somewhere in the clarity a solution would come forth. It always did.

He would mourn in private.

"_HAJIME_!"

The piercing screech of Tokio caused both men to jump apart and whip their attention to the porch where she stood, pale as death, wide eyed, and with a shattered tea set at her feet. Saitou's heart lurched in his chest, but as her fright turned to anger and she pushed up her sleeves, stalking towards them, his own worry disappeared.

"What do you think you are doing, the two of you?" she demanded, jabbing her finger at both of them once she was in close enough range, "trying to kill each other?"

Okita looked at her, surprised. "Takagi-san-"

"I understand you are upset," she said evenly, taking a deep breath to calm herself before flashing her eyes at him, "but taking out your anger on _my_ husband is unacceptable!"

Neither of the men felt any real need to point out that he wasn't quite her husband yet, though they did share a brief, knowing, glance.

"Tokio dear-"

"And _you_," she snarled, giving Saitou a disapproving once over. "How could you? Poor Okita-san. Can't you see how much he is hurting? To think you would take advantage of this and fight him so willingly! You. . . .you. . . you _men_!"

She huffed at both of them, throwing her hands up in the air and with her lips pursed in a straight and horrifyingly maternal line, fumed at the two males before her.

Saitou watched her calmly. "Are you done, woman?" he drawled after a few moments.

"Yes," she snapped. "I am."

Okita let out a snort of laughter and she gave him a rather terrifying frown.

"I don't see what could be so funny, sir."

"We weren't fighting, Takagi-san," he told her simply, doing his best to keep the corners of his lips down. Women certainly had a way of jumping to conclusions.

Tokio's stern face faltered slightly and she looked up at her betrothed. "You. . .weren't fighting?"

"No, Tokio," replied Saitou smoothly. "Okita asked for me to spar with him. It was nothing more than practice."

As her hands dropped limply to her sides and she let out a small, sheepish, _oh_, Okita gave her a reassuring smile.

"It's our fault for beginning so abruptly out here," he said, "but the training hall was already taken."

"Forgive me," she said, letting out a sigh as she turned and bent to pick up the fallen china, "I'm not myself today."

"None of us are," he replied softly.

She hesitated over a large piece of porcelain, closing her eyes, but Saitou's strong hand on her upper arm brought her back. He pulled her up, steering her feet away from anything sharp and gave her a small nudge towards a staircase.

"Go upstairs and change your clothes. There's someplace I want to take you."

Her eyes darted back to the mess on the floor, but he snapped his fingers.

"I will have someone take care of this. Go. Now." Then, turning to Okita, he gave a small nod. "You might find meditation useful."

Okita agreed, hopping up onto the deck and gathering the tea set into his hands. There was no need for anyone to go out of their way when he was right here. With nothing better to do, he didn't mind cleaning. It was therapeutic. Saitou seemed to understand this and swept away silently.

As he piled every last shard into his open palm, he sighed.

"If nothing else," he said to no one in particular, "don't let him hurt her."

xxxx

"_Get away from me!_"

For what might have been the seventh or eighth time that morning, Shousha spat at Katsura. She hadn't taken kindly to waking up in his bed and when she had frantically pinned herself against the wall, she patted herself down, trying to find any hint as to whether or not he might have had his way with her. He hadn't, and though he tried to explain this to her several times, his words didn't seem to reach her panicked ears.

She was still against the wall, inching her way around the room, grabbing every object her hands could find without her eyes (as she refused to take them off her husband), and hurling them at him with unusually poor accuracy.

"You are only going to exhaust yourself," he said calmly as he slowly sidestepped a stream of books.

"I just woke up," she snarled, her fingers finding the rim of a vase, "I'm not tired."

Katsura eyed the vase she was about to throw at him and caring very little for her personal space, strode over and gripped her wrist.

"That was expensive," he said speaking into her hair in a mildly warning tone.

The feel of his calloused skin against hers sent a petrifying shock through her body and she began to shake. She didn't want to be this close to him. He was strong, terrifyingly so. Even though he wasn't inflicting any pain on her, she knew that she would not be able to escape his grip. He wouldn't allow it.

Anger fading into fear, Shousha released the pottery and, trembling, looked up at him.

"Are you going to hurt me?" she asked quietly, sinking against the wall.

His answer was surprisingly gentle as he loosened his hold on her. "I would never inflict pain on you."

She inhaled sharply, giving him a questioning look. "How can you say that? You tried to kill me."

Katsura released her and stepped back, rubbing his forehead and sighing. She wasn't going to let him forget about that little detail, was she?

"Yes, and for that I apologize."

"Then why. . ." she couldn't finish her inquiry, but searched his face desperately. He had been so intent on getting rid of her. Why then was she standing here before him as his _wife_?

"It was a lapse in judgement," he told her softly, reaching for the books she had strewn about the floor in her fury.

"A lapse," Shousha echoed dully. When he looked up and nodded to her, she slumped onto the floor and her bottom lip began to tremble. She didn't want to show any more weakness in front of this horrible man, but what her mind wanted and what her body was willing to do were not one in the same.

"Is that all my life is worth to you?" she asked shakily. As tears began to leak from her eyes, she covered her mouth to muffle the squeaks caused by her attempts to stifle her sobs.

She was a mistake. A business deal. It wasn't that she had hoped for anything more, but to hear it put so blatantly was devastating. The way he had looked at her and answered so plainly was gut wrenching. To him she was nothing more than a misplaced tally mark in his ledger.

"You didn't want me."

Katsura gave his stack of books one final adjustment before turning to her with a kind expression.

"There are many paths in life we walk that we may not have chosen."

With short, frantic breaths, Shousha stood. "I won't stay here with you."

"Where will you go?" he asked, a slightly amused sparkle entering his eye. The roadmap of her emotions was incredible. He could see the defiance rising up in her face. Just in the hour or so that she had been awake, he had seen fear, anger, sorrow, and even traces of sardonic humor, all criss-crossing over each other, taking sharp turns, and then barreling down open roads at full speed.

"I'm going home," she responded, lifting her chin and slowly making her way to the door. Her face was set and confident, but her feet, timid and hesitant, betrayed her. She was expecting him to pounce on her.

"You don't know where you are," he told her pointedly.

"I have an excellent sense of direction," she replied stiffly. "I will find my way back."

She slammed the shouji shut and he sat, pulling out a letter that had arrived earlier that morning.

"You won't get far," he murmured.

Shousha heard his doubt and held her breath, waiting just outside the room. When she was absolutely certain he had no intention of coming after her, she bolted. She wasn't familiar with the layout of this building, but an inn was an inn.

Whipping around a corner, she came face to face with a pair of Choshu samurai. She let out a short scream of surprise before turning around and heading down a different hallway. She hurried down the stairs, not even caring that she had absolutely no idea where her shoes were, or that she was still in her sleeping yukata. She could have been naked; it wouldn't have mattered. She needed to get home.

"Oh Soushi," she moaned, holding her side of the cramp that was forming, "help me."

After several minutes or running in circles and backtracking, she spilled into a room filled with women. The kitchen.

"Ah, the princess has arrived."

Panting, Shousha looked towards the woman who had spoken, an older woman with a stern face. Despite her no-nonsense appearance, however, she seemed to be laughing.

Irritated, Shousha shot her a dirty look. She wished everyone would stop calling her a princess. Was it a common joke shared between these people? No one thus far had used the term in a praising manner.

"Oh don't be so offended, Katsura-san-"

"Don't!"

At the shrill order, the woman raised an eyebrow. Shousha's eyes widened and she stepped out of the room.

"Don't call me that."

She didn't want to be reminded that she had been forced into a family she hated. For some time her name was the only thing that had set her apart from the masses and kept her safe. Despite its connection to corruption and treachery, she had clung to it. Her name was the only thing that had never failed her.

Now it was no longer hers.

"She's something isn't she?"

Shousha jumped as Katsura came up behind her, nodding kindly to the other women working hard at their chores.

"Well she certainly has the voice of a princess," the woman said, pursing her lips, "though her face could use some work. She's too boyish."

Katsura smiled, then gave a small shake of his head as Shousha darted down the hall behind them and threw open the shouji.

Instead of the glittering morning she had expected, Shousha found herself standing before at least a dozen men, all of whom had ceased their chatter and were now focused on her. There was one man in particular that she recognized and her heart pounded against her chest.

The nightmare had only begun.

Reclining, Iizuka let out a low whistle. "You are Katsura's new woman, huh?"

Steeling her jaw, she glared ahead at him, but he waved his hand at her, not entertained by her fiery gaze.

"You're much prettier when you're all made up. Glad I didn't waste my money."

So he recognized her too.

"Be nice Iizuka," Katsura said smoothly as he placed his hand on her shoulder. With a snarl, she turned and moved to shove him away, but he caught her expertly and spun her to face his men, arms securely around her waist. "She's very high spirited."

"Let me go!" she cried, kicking against him.

He ignored her, taking the opportunity to address the room before him. "Allow me to introduce you to my wife. Our very own Miburo."

Comments and questions broke out amongst the men, none of the words any less than hateful.

_Why would Katsura-san marry a witch like her?_

_What an ugly girl!_

_Will she live here?_

_I bet she'll kill us in our sleep._

_What happened to the pretty lady?_

_I heard her parents sold her soul to the Shinsengumi, but her body to Katsura-san._

_What do you expect? She's a Yamata._

Shousha had stopped fighting Katsura's hold and was doing her best to catch every scathing remark that came out of the mouths of these ignorant bastards. There were only three men that remained silent, save her husband. The first was Iizuka, but he didn't have to open his mouth. She had felt his eyes on her before, but now that he knew who she was, the slimy toad looked at her lazily, with a strange sort of satisfied smugness. He knew her weaknesses and unlike Katsura who wanted to keep her calm and docile, Iizuka seemed to want to set her off and see just how far he could push her.

The second was a small man, possibly not much different in size than Okita, with the most unusual shade of red hair. He wasn't looking at her at all. He wasn't looking at anyone. Concentrated on his breakfast, he appeared to be blocking out everything around him.

Lastly, a young boy was sitting, staring as if he were about to cry for her. Shousha wanted to punch him.

"Please, gentlemen," Katsura addressed the hall, raising his voice in volume, but not power. They went silent immediately.

"I did not originally intend to introduce her so publicly, but as you can see, she didn't give me much of a choice."

"Let me go Katsura," Shousha growled under her breath.

He ignored her, giving a small smile to the group before him. "Her name is Shousha and she will be living here with us for the time being."

Iizuka decided to speak then. "Is that such a good idea? She is one of them, after all."

"Yes," Katsura said, "that is precisely why she will remain under our constant supervision. However, I do not wish to discuss this right now."

While normally the examiner would have backed down at his commander's tone that edged on threatening, he couldn't resist the fierce sparks coming from that woman's eyes. He wanted to see them ignite and burn, tearing down everything in their path. And then, he wanted to extinguish them.

If he had gotten the chance to have her at the teahouse, he would have enjoyed her for a night. But she had been a fake then and he had so carelessly fallen for it. It didn't bother him in the slightest that Shizawa had been killed because of it; he didn't know him all that well and found himself jealous of the other man's easy skill with women.

What irked him was that she had tricked him, and not only tricked him, but used him. She must have thought herself clever, the little wretch, pulling the wool over the eyes of the examiner! It was clear now, as she stared him down haughtily, as if she held any importance here.

She needed to learn her place.

"Be careful with her, Katsura-san," he said cooly, "She has lain with the dogs. One never knows what one might catch from a flea bitten hound."

Color rose up in Shousha's cheeks and she heard several pairs of chopsticks clatter to the floor.

"Shut your mouth," she breathed, inhaling slowly, "you shut your mouth right now."

"Or the hound's bitch."

"Iizuka-" Katsura began to warn, but Shousha's elbow caught him in the rib as she began to struggle again and the rest of his sentence was caught in a grunt.

"I meant no offense, princess," Iizuka went on, "but from what I hear you've been sharing a captain's bed." he let out another whistle. "Ambitious."

"Let me go," she growled again, digging the balls of her feet into the tatami in an attempt to pull herself free. "I'm going to tear him apart."

"I do not think that is a good idea, Shousha."

"Aw come on, Katsura-san," Iizuka pouted, standing and opening his arms in an invitation for her to do her worst. "I won't let her get hurt." _Much_.

"You're instigating Iizuka."

Iizuka cracked a smile. "A little. But look at her; she's showing her fangs!"

Katsura leaned forward to catch a glimpse of his wife who was indeed baring her teeth as she grunted and wiggled against his hold. Chuckling, he brought a hand up to hold her chin gently.

"Aren't they cute?"

Through with being mocked, Shousha pulled her arm forward, and with all the strength she could muster, drove it just under one of Katsura's ribs. His surprise was short lived, but it was enough. His grip loosened and she pushed off of him, driving her body directly into Iizuka's.

"Shit! What the hell!"

Placing a balancing hand on his side, Katsura watched Shousha with interest as she latched onto Iizuka's arm, sinking her teeth deep into his flesh.

"See now you should have been able to dodge that," he said with a shake of his head.

"I didn't expect you to let her go!" Iizuka roared. "Fuck-get this bitch off me!"

It was perverse, but Katsura didn't want to free the man from her hold, not yet. There was something beautiful about her choice of violence. She hadn't been a lady and given him a good slap, and she hadn't tried to go up against him head on. Was it because she knew, even in her unfocused rage, that she was no match for a man? Or was it more primitive, a raw instinct to inflict as much pain in the swiftest way possible?

She hadn't bit_ him_ and, from what he could gather from the scattered clues he had gathered, had no intention to attack him in this manner. Iizuka, it seemed, had offended her a great deal.

Her loyalty was much stronger than Katsura had initially imagined. That could be trouble.

Most of the men in the room were laughing now, some doubled over as Iizuka cursed and sputtered, waving his arm around and pushing Shousha's forehead. Her victim, however, saw no humor in this humiliation whatsoever. All he wanted to do was deliver one organ crushing blow to her abdomen and watch the little whore fly across the room. Maybe she'd even land on her head and snap her neck.

It was unfortunate for his pride, but he couldn't lay a finger on her. Originally he had intended to give her a few 'accidental' bruises. In a fist-flying fury it would have been easy to pull it off. But no fists were flying. There was plenty of fury, but it didn't matter. He couldn't touch her. She was Katsura's wife.

_Wife._ What a sour taste that thought left in his mouth. She wasn't a hostage or a prisoner, she was, by law, his life's partner- a lady, the mother to his children.

Looking down at her snarling at him, Iizuka shuddered inwardly. If he had cared anything for Katsura he might have pitied the man.

It was then that the aforementioned man came up behind her and with a firm hand on the jaw that was clenched so tightly, gave her a commanding squeeze. She whimpered slightly in resistance, but at his touch, all of her energy flowed from her body and she allowed him to gather her into his arms.

"Do you see this?" Iizuka demanded, showing his wound around to any man who was interested. It was a pitiful display and Katsura frowned. The man would live. The puncture wounds were deep, but small. It was nothing a few stitches couldn't help. The worst he might experience would be a dark bruise. Perhaps some (very) light scarring.

There was a small series of hitched breaths from the girl in his arms and when he looked down to see whether or not she was crying (it certainly sounded like she was), she began to cough. It was a soft cough at first and he turned, leaving the hall. The spectacle was over.

"Put me down," she croaked, raising a languid arm to swat at him. She barely raised it to his shoulder before it fell limp onto her stomach. That wasn't right.

"Are you alright?" he asked, watching as her brow became furrowed and beads of sweat began to form. "I told you not to-"

He was cut off as she let out a horrifying wheeze followed by a series of dry coughs and more wheezing. Standing at the bottom of the stairs, Katsura found himself frozen. It wasn't that he didn't know what to do, but he couldn't do anything but watch as she struggled for her breath. He'd seen it plenty of times before, this consumption.

By the time he had unrooted himself, she had lost consciousness and when he placed her down in bed, he sat before her, arms crossed. What an interesting turn of events this was proving to be.

xxxx


	22. Love

**Author's Note:** Welcome back! I hope everyone enjoyed the holidays of the past month and that you popped a few buttons on your jeans from all the good food. :D

_**Disclaimer**__: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs_

**Changes in Friendship**

_Chapter Twenty Two  
_

When Saitou ushered Tokio from the dojo, she noticed that he had a wooden pail with him. He didn't try to hide it, but he hadn't made much note of it either. She couldn't help but peek around his body when he wasn't looking. He was walking quickly, much more quickly than usual, but his face showed no signs of distress.

"Where are we going?" she asked, hurrying along beside him, struggling with her breath as she kept his powerful pace.

He didn't respond, but took her hand and rounded a corner, heading into the forest.

"This should be quicker," he murmured to himself.

Once they were free from the mad bustle of the street, he slowed and released his grip on her. There was a small worn path in the trees, making their walk through the otherwise deserted woodlands rather comfortable.

It was a warm day, Tokio noted to herself, observing the budding leaves on the trees. The grass was returning, casting a soft viridian carpeting over the floor of the forest in its infancy, and there were already birds flitting about, building nests for their eggs. With each step she took into the trees, she could feel her spirits lifting. Man was cruel, but nature was soothing.

Saitou also felt relatively light. He could feel Tokio's hand brush against his each time she avoided a stone or root. She apologized softly every time. He wanted to tell her she needn't be sorry, but he doubted she was apologizing because she thought she might have offended him, but rather because it was an automatic reaction.

"Are you nervous?" He asked after several minutes.

Tokio looked up at him and tossed her hair over her shoulder. There was a soft breeze behind them that kept blowing it in her face. She should have brought a ribbon.

"Nervous?"

"There are but two weeks before you are mine forever," he replied, never giving her the pleasure of eye contact.

She laughed at him, giving a playfully doubting look. "Is there something I should be nervous about? I've been living with you long enough to think I have nothing to fear."

He raised his eyebrows. "Don't you?" She froze and he turned to look at her, smiling gently. "I am kidding."

When she exhaled, she shook her head, marching up to him and lacing her arm into the crook of his elbow. "Really, Hajime you are terrible."

Saitou shrugged. "I was simply implying that most women tend to become twittering fools when a wedding draws near."

Tokio rolled her eyes, and began to walk again, allowing him to lead the way down the softly twisting path.

"What's in the bucket?" she asked, unable to squash her curiosity.

"That doesn't matter," he replied calmly.

"Is it food?"

"Tokio-"

"Is it?"

"We're here."

Tokio clamped her mouth shut and looked around. It was like no place she had ever seen in her life, not that it was a difficult task; she had spent all of her years in the dusty city.

Here the river flowed refreshing hues of blue capped with white, the grass grew in abundance and the trees, each one of them mammoth in size, stood proud, strong, and wise, like guardians of this sacred place.

Saitou placed the pail down by one of the great trees and Tokio noticed behind him, a small cottage, no, a shack. The roof had long since sunken in and its walls had grown soft and rotten. A heavy layer of moss ran up one side where a large hole had been blown through. Through the hole, small branches of a young tree poked through, giving the entire place a strangely inviting appeal.

"Do you recognize this place?"

Tokio came out of her thoughts and looked up at her intended. "No, I didn't even think a place like this could ever exist in reality."

So his assumption had been right. She had never been here.

"You'll think it funny," she said, biting her lip to keep from laughing, "but my mother used to tell me a story when I was a little girl. It was one she made up for me and. . .this place. . .it's like it's right out of that story."

"The thief and the farm boy?"

Tokio looked up at him in surprise. "H-how did you know?"

He turned his attention to the river for several minutes, contemplating how to proceed. He had gone over it dozens of times in his head. This would probably be the most romantic gesture he would ever make. He had labored over this day. Because it was simply the way of the world, however, the lines he had so diligently practiced were lost to him now, swept away in the currant.

"I heard the story recently," he said finally. "I met with you father."

Tokio stepped back, her equilibrium thrown off by the idea of him ever stepping foot into her father's shack of his own accord. When he noticed her lack of speech, he nodded his head towards the old cottage.

"Twenty-two years ago, that wall was destroyed."

For a few moments, Tokio studied him. He was talking in riddles and _that_ was unusual. Her Hajime was always exceedingly blunt. Straight to the point, no time wasted. Why he was being so cryptic now befuddled her, but she had learned the hard way that she was to trust him, no matter what situation she might find herself in.

"How do you know that?" she asked, "You were so young."

"I wasn't here when it happened, Tokio," he nearly snapped.

"Then why is it so important?" she demanded, eyeing the pail. It really looked like food.

Saitou sighed and ushered her down before the tree, and pulling what was, indeed, a lunch pail, towards him. He opened it and Tokio's eyes lit up as she clapped excitedly.

"A picnic!" she exclaimed, peering into the container.

He looked at her flatly before glancing over to the shack again. She followed his gaze, soaking in the magical feel around her. This was, by far, the most beautiful space she had ever found herself in. That Saitou had brought her here only made her heart pitter patter in ways it never had before.

"It wasn't just a story," he said softly.

Tokio looked to him and as he handed her a bowl filled with rice, just as the farm boy had done for the thief, she placed one hand on a root of the giant tree.

"You mean. . ."

He nodded.

Overcome with emotion. Tokio inhaled sharply. "Th-this. . .my, my mother- my- papa. H-h-here?"

He nodded. This tiny sanctuary by the river was where field laborer Takagi Kojuro and his thieving wife had met and it was in the same place that over several weeks, they had fallen in love. Saitou wasn't exactly one for mushy sentiment, but he knew that despite her unusual upbringing, Tokio held her parents in very high esteem. It only seemed right to honor them in this way.

"Don't get soggy, Tokio," he chastised, handing her a handkerchief.

"How did you _find _this place?" she asked, wiping her damp eyes with her sleeve, forgetting all about the cloth in her hand.

"It took some time," he admitted, "and I had hoped to come here in the summer, but after the events of last night, I thought perhaps you might like something to take your mind off your friend."

Tokio was speechless. No one had ever done anything so thoughtful for her. Since they had met he had been exceptionally kind to her, and it was true that he spoiled her with material possessions, with thoughts to fuel her affections, but bringing her here, placing her at the scene of her favourite love story, had no beneficial properties for him at all.

So why do it?

"I have purchased a home for us," he said offhandedly as she began to eat, silent with joy and wonder. "Once we are married, we will move."

She paused for a moment, frowning slightly. "Why? I like the dojo."

"We will move," he began sternly, "because I am to be your husband and I say we will move. Additionally, as your husband, I alone am entitled to you. I expect you to perform all of your domestic tasks solely for me."

"That's a little selfish," she said, bringing her eyebrows down.

"Not at all. It is my right."

"But what about all of our friends? Okita-san and Harada-san, especially! How can we just leave them?" She drew her knees up to her chest. "Because without Shousha, I will be completely alone when you are gone."

Saitou cleared his throat. "That brings me to my second point. I have made moving arrangements for your father and sister as well."

Tokio perked slightly at this. "Moving? Where are you sending them?"

"There is a widow I know. Her husband was one of ours and he was cut down four or so months ago. She is a young thing, about your age, and growing fat with his child."

"That is so sad," she said, sighing.

"That is life," Saitou clipped in response. "She is a good woman and her family is all dead. She has agreed to take on your family as her living companions. What she needs is a mother, but since I only had a spare father hanging around these parts, he'll have to do.

"Living with Fumiko will also be good for that little one you call a sister. She'll get a proper upbringing and might even be able to make a decent match once she becomes a woman. I expect _you_ to make friends with her as she has none and you have lost the only one you had."

Tears pricked at the corner of Tokio's eyes and she whispered a small _of course,_ but he gave her an annoyed glance that told her to hold off crying at least until he was done speaking.

"When I bought you from Yamata house, I told you that your family's finances would be taken care of. This remains true today. As your father is in no condition to be considered head of the family, I will be managing everything in his place. Everything will be placed in my name. Because of this, your brother may find himself in a rather dire situation as I intend to make it known that his debts are not welcome in _my_ family."

For a moment, Tokio sat in shock. For a moment, Saitou held his breath. For a moment, even the river seemed to stop.

Then, she exploded.

Saitou came to the swift conclusion that he had never seen a human being cry that hard without vomiting. What was even stranger to him, was that her tears were not of agony or sorrow, but of happiness. It was difficult to understand the words she was sputtering at first, but as she repeated the syllables over and over, he realized that he was thanking him.

"Why?" she asked, once she was able to form words that didn't sound like a drowning cat, "why are you so kind to me?"

"We are an unusual pair," he said, dancing around her question in a decidedly un-Saitoulike way, "I am worlds above you in status and you are the rudest female I have ever encountered. We rarely agree and I find myself more annoyed with you than not."

Tokio sniffled, smiling at that.

Saitou sighed. "But through all that, it seems that we are very much like the thief and the farm boy."

"How so?" she whispered. She didn't see how they were _anything_ like her doe eyed, heart-on-the-sleeve parents.

He looked at her with his golden eyes, narrow as they ever were, sharp and strong, though his lips were twitching, betraying the strong facade he wore. This was it. If he was going to admit it, now was the perfect time to do so. No one was around to hear, and Tokio was already disoriented by the charity he had piled onto her already weak emotions.

"Because we too have made a love match."

Her breath hitched. She stared at him.

"What?" The word was inaudible, but he saw the slight movement of her lips and the hope glimmering in her eyes.

He swallowed. He was uncomfortable. Romance was not his strong suit. He wasn't sure if he sounded suave or even barely convincing, but he knew that he felt like a fool. At least he _knew_ that she loved him. He never would have been able to voice his feelings if there had been a slight chance of rejection.

"I hold you in my highest affections, Tokio. You know that."

She continued to stare, though she had found her voice. "Oh say it, Hajime. Please." She hadn't initially been one for romantic frivolity either, but falling in love, well, it changes people.

He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes.

"I love you."

As soon as the words escaped his mouth, he cringed inwardly. Why was it that when anyone else was professing their love, it sounded smooth, natural, and oh-so-lovely and delicate? What he had just said sounded awkward, forced, and out of character. It made him feel uneasy and not quite right.

Though if it had sounded as terrible as _he_ had heard it, Tokio didn't notice. Without any regard for their food, she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and showering his face with tiny kisses.

He couldn't help but smile at her antic, only half listening as she went on some female tirade about how she truly had known it all along but it just felt so _good_ to hear it. Through the nonsense, however, he felt, not annoyed, not the least bit agitated, but proud. He had made her happy. She was overjoyed. She was his.

"Oh Hajime!" she cried, pulling away to look at him. Her eyes had started to water again and this time he reached up to wipe away the water threatening to spill from her eyes. "You are so good to me."

"I know," he murmured, devilish smile flicking across his features.

"What can I do?" she all but whispered, "how can I possibly repay you for all that you're doing for me? Everything you've done?"

Any other gentleman might have said something along the lines of, _Loving you is all I need_ or, _I need nothing. Seeing you happy is enough, _but Saitou was not any other gentleman. In fact, he had never really considered himself a gentle anything, least of all a gentle man.

Pulling her up onto his lap, he locked his arms around her hips, holding her body close to his own. She squirmed against him slightly and he shot her a daring glance before clearing his throat.

"You will give me children," he told her. "I should like three sons, though I am not opposed to more."

Tokio smiled and rested her head against his shoulder. "You want to be a father?"

"I want sons," he corrected.

"No daughters?" Tokio could feel him shudder at the thought and she bit back a laugh. "Alright," she told him softly, "I will give you sons."

For a while, neither of them spoke. They simply enjoyed each other's presence. Sitting there together, time seemed to stop completely. There was no city, no war, and no loss. Their world existed only for them, and no one could enter the Eden they had found.

"Tell me something," Tokio said gently after what may have been an hour of silence, hoping that he hadn't fallen asleep.

"What would you like to know?" he asked in response.

"Anything," she sighed, "You know almost every detail of my past, present, and you're very good at controlling my future, but I don't know anything about you."

"You know everything that matters," he told her, resting his chin on her crown.

"But your wife should know everything, especially the things that don't mater." She pulled away slightly, looking up at him with a pout. "Just one fun fact," she pleaded, "one tiny thing that no one else knows."

With a shake of his head, he sighed. "There is nothing of importance, Tokio."

"Then I want to know something silly," she pressed.

He looked at he straight on, challenging her. "You truly want to know something that I have never revealed to anyone?"

Of course she did. She straightened considerably and her eyes shone with curiosity and mischief. There was a reason he kept to himself. That reason being that nothing was anyone else's damned business. Still, she would be his wife, and in unconventional matches such as theirs, wives had a strange power over their husbands and always seemed to emerge from battle victorious.

Saitou wasn't used to losing.

But losing to her, well, that might become acceptable.

"Alright," he said finally and she began to clap her hands again. She wiggled a bit, finding the perfect spot on his lap, and gazed up at him like a child waiting to be told a bedtime story. He sighed for what had to have been the tenth time today.

"Cats make me ill."

Tokio covered her mouth of the bubble of laughter that rose up in her throat. "_What?_"

"Cats," he repeated, "When they are in my presence, I become ill."

"What does that _mean_?" she asked, her nose making strange snorting noises as she desperately tried to cover up her amusement. Who had ever heard of a cat making someone sick?

"I don't know," he bit off, growing irritated, "The damned things make my eyes go all itchy, I can't seem to stop sneezing, and if one of the bastards touches me, I'm doomed to be scratching for hours."

It was too much for Tokio. Gripping the front of his Haori, she had her face buried in his clothing, howling with laughter. Saitou did not see what was funny.

"H-how did you-" she had to stop her question to let out a few more giggles before wiping her eyes and taking a deep breath to calm herself. Then she tried again. "How did you keep this a secret? There are cats everywhere!"

"Not anymore," he muttered.

Tokio gasped, staring at him in shock. He shrugged. Then, she laughed again.

It was all so silly, the thought of him, the great, fierce Saitou Hajime going around the city killing cats. She only hoped they weren't pets. She was certain she didn't want a man like him bursting through _her_ kitchen, swinging a sword after her _cat_.

"Well then we'll have to get a dog," she decided.

He smiled at her, pulling her close and giving a kiss to the top of her head. "Let us think of sons first, Tokio, then we can speak of hounds."

She grinned in response, even though he couldn't see her, and settled against his strong body. Within a few seconds she felt her eyelids grow heavy and soon after, she drifted off into a much needed slumber.

Saitou allowed her to nap, feeling content simply holding her and when he looked around the forest. a strange feeling came over him. It felt like he had suddenly won someone's approval, despite being alone and having done nothing to merit that sort of response from anyone.

His eyes traveled to the rotted old house; he couldn't help it, there was just something about it. The sapling inside, poking out it's new branches, was dancing in the wind. Except, there was no longer any wind. Taking this as a sign, he let out a low chuckle and lifted his head towards the canopy of the forest.

"They're all going to be just fine, Haruko-san," he said, returning his gaze back to the tree, blowing about gently.

He should have felt like a fool, talking to no one. He should have felt even more like a fool imagining he walk talking to a dead woman. A dead woman whom he would have gladly hunted down and persecuted had she been living and thieving today.

But there he was, assuring the spirit (of a woman he surely would have hated) that he was taking care of her family and that she needn't worry any more. He was speaking aloud to ghosts that may or may not have existed at all, and he didn't care.

He should have felt like a fool, but falling love, well, it changes people.

xxxx

**Author's Note:** A little break from all the doom and gloom

Also, I couldn't help but go back and condense. The earlier chapters were so much shorter than the ones now that I had a little bug in my brain that has been telling me for months that I need to fix that. So if you noticed there are only 22 chapters suddenly, don't panic. I didn't take anything out; I just put it all together. :)


	23. Marriage

_**Disclaimer**__: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs_

**Changes in Friendship**

_Chapter Twenty Three_

"I did not expect for you to send for me again."

Katsura stared ahead, watching as the beautiful woman before him prepared the tea. Much like himself, she never faltered regardless of the emotions that were undoubtedly running through her mind. What a horrible man she must have think him to be, promising his life to her and then turning around and marrying another. It was difficult to explain his reasoning, so he didn't.

And she didn't ask.

Of course she didn't ask. She wouldn't. It wasn't her place and she knew that. It wasn't out of fear of punishment that she kept herself in line, but habit. She had been well bred and well trained to know what to say, when to say it, but more importantly, when to keep quiet. She was, in every sense, perfect.

"You must hate me," he said quietly as she handed him the teacup with a smile.

"Hate you? I could never," she replied truthfully, returning to her position kneeling before him.

Katsura looked down at his tea with little desire to drink. "I believe I owe you an apology, Ikumatsu."

With gentle eyes, she shook her head, rattling the charms that hung from her hair. "You owe me nothing, Katsura-san. You had a duty and you upheld it with grace. I cannot fault you for being an honorable man."

Still, he frowned. She was as practiced as ever, referring to him politely as if he were nothing more than a client. Which, he reminded himself, he wasn't. Not anymore. They may have been lovers in the past, but just one week ago, all that had changed. He was merely another man on her schedule now.

And she called him Katsura-san.

"You should fault me," he told her, brows furrowed. "I have wronged you."

"So apologetic," she teased him gracefully, "Is this why you have called me here?"

Katsura sighed, placing his cup on the tray beside him. "I suppose I need someone to talk to."

"And you have chosen me?" She let a blush (though now he couldn't decipher whether it was genuine or professional) creep up onto her cheeks as she bowed her head lightly, "I am honored."

"I miss you," he admitted.

It was then that her mask cracked and her lips parted. It seemed he was not in the mood for coy banter today. That was a relief. Neither was she.

"How is your wife?" she tried. Engaging in factual conversation was safe. Talk of emotions would only run both of them ragged.

"Difficult," he sighed, "very difficult. She hasn't spoken to me in days and I consider it a good day if she doesn't look my way. She has a rather terrifying stare."

Ikumatsu lowered her lashes. "I feel sorry for her."

"Why is that?"

Heart quickening, the geisha swallowed. She hadn't meant to voice that thought aloud. It wasn't for lack of truth, but because she knew that Katsura would question her. Her answer was far too bold.

"I can understand a little bit of her pain," she said finally, bracing herself for the words she would utter next. She had never been so free with her words before, but though she might offend the man before her, she knew also that he would not react unkindly towards her.

"Forgive me," she continued, "but she and I both had our dreams stolen away in the same moment."

She paused and when he didn't reply at first, she added, against her better judgement, "by the same man."

Katsura studied the woman before him intently before speaking, "You said you did not fault me."

"I do not," she affirmed, "but that does not ease the pain in my own heart."

He was silent then, unsure of what to say. He had never broken anyone's heart before. Even in his younger, teenage days, he had taken lovers and drifted apart from them, never getting involved enough to complicate the issue. He had been a fool to promise this woman life among the stars when gravity chained him to the earth.

"This conversation is heavy," she said, pouring him more tea, "tell me about your week. I imagine it must have been rather eventful."

He exhaled slowly as she sat back to listen to him. His week had been far more than simply _eventful_. Frustrating was more appropriate. Hair-raising and blood curdling were also good words to describe his days as of late.

"They were. . .entertaining," he settled on.

"Entertaining?"

Scratching the spot beside his nose, Katsura hummed slightly in confirmation. "She's like a wild animal, this wife of mine."

Ikumatsu covered her mouth to hide her giggle. "She can't be all that bad."

Katsura sent her a flat look, but cracked a smile. "She attacked Iizuka at the beginning of the week. Had his arm right like this between her teeth," he explained, using his hand and arm to re-enact the scene.

Eyes wide, Ikumatsu leaned forward. "Is he alright? That must have been terrifying."

He waved in dismissal, "He had it coming. He was saying some awful things about her relationship with the Shinsengumi."

He sat back, laughing at the memory. "Ah but you should have seen him, screaming like a girl, flailing about."

Ikumatsu let a smile break through as well and she folded her hands on her lap. "Are you concerned that she is this violent?"

Katsura looked up at her, but shook his head.

"She's violent, but not trained. More than anything she just has a good arm," he told her, rubbing his biceps tenderly, "I'm thinking about removing all the books in this place."

"Books?"

He gave her a wry smile. "Shousha's weapon of choice."

"I find it strange that she is so unruly," she said quietly, "I imagined the daughter of such a wealthy family to have been properly educated."

"I don't think she lacks _education_," he said thoughtfully, rubbing his chin, "but _discipline_, _direction_, and _delicacy_. She has an aversion to authority and I have a feeling that in the past, everyone that held power over her gave into her harsh rebellion, giving her the freedom to do as she pleased."

Ikumatsu considered this for a moment, her thumb poised just below her lower lip as it always was when she found herself deep in thought. It was unusual for someone to be so free spirited, having had a formal upbringing, but she supposed that perhaps it was the formality of it all that had caused this woman's retaliation.

"It is known," she said carefully, "that you can beat a dog into submission."

Everyone knew this was true and Katsura nodded for her to continue.

"But I believe that no matter how harsh the punishment, a wolf will always fight back."

"Well said, my dear," he commended her, raising his cup to her.

She smiled gently in return. "If she has made her own freedom all these years, it must be very difficult for her to be held here. I can see why she had become so reckless."

Katsura let his thoughts wander upstairs where Shousha was, in fact, caged in. Two of his men guarded the door of his room lest she attempt to escape. When he had left to come down here, she had been screaming and pounding on the wood, begging to be released. He only hoped she stayed put. He didn't want to resort to tying her up.

When he returned to the present scene, Ikumatsu gave him a questioning look. "Is there something bothering you, Katsura-san?"

"_That_," he replied, referring to the way she addressed him, then asked, "Do you know what she calls me?"

She shook her head, even though his question had been rhetorical.

"Katsura," he said. "like a man. Like a _man_."

"Is she very masculine?" she asked delicately.

Katsura thought for a moment. "No, she's very much like a girl, weeping and sobbing constantly, throwing accusations without thinking, and-" he sighed. "-love. She doesn't _love_ me, she says. She wants to go home to Okita because she _loves _him."

"Is that so wrong?"

He sighed again, not having meant to go off in such a way. "Love is a wonderful and beautiful thing," he admitted, "but so is tradition, as well as honor and duty. Those three things are what bind us together and her digging in her heels and denying me will only lend its way to suffering."

Ikumatsu glanced up from the tea set. "What will you do?"

He shook his head, furrowing his brows. "What can I do? I can't understand her, so I don't know how to reach her."

"You could send her far away into the countryside," she suggested, "Give her a cottage and enough money to survive on. It is a common practice in Europe."

At this, Katsura chuckled. "Is it, now?"

She smiled, pouring once again. "So I have heard."

"I suppose in the end it doesn't matter what choices I make for her," he said, staring into his tea once again. "I don't know how long she will be on this Earth."

Surprised at this statement, she gave a look of concern. "I'm afraid you are being a bit vague, Katsura-san."

Katsura closed his eyes. "She's not well," he told her softly. "consumption."

Covering her mouth, Ikumatsu let out a small '_oh my_', not bothering to don her facade again. It was no wonder he was so distraught over her. Consumption was catchy and Ikumatsu knew that. Katsura knew that. Everyone knew that.

"Well," she said quietly. "has word-"

"No," he said firmly, cutting her off. "and it won't. I won't cause a panic among my men. There has already been an uneasy shift with her simply _being _here."

"That is a difficult secret to keep, Kogoro."

"I know," he breathed. "I know."

He wanted to relish the fact that she had called him by his name for the first time since he'd been married, but his heart was heavy with thoughts of his wild, uncontrollable, dying wife.

Dying didn't seem to suit her. Even though it was there before him, her attacks, throughout the day and each night like clockwork, it didn't seem to him that she could be near death. Once she had regained her strength, she was back up, throwing fits and crying, lamenting over her lost love. Surely such dramatics were of those who were very much alive and well.

She didn't fear him anymore. He ought to have been thankful for that, but the fear she once harbored had turned to a sour hatred that radiated from every surface of her body. On the occasion she decided to speak to him, she was biting and callous, resorting to nasty name calling and scathing insults. After two days, Katsura had begun to ignore her completely and that, for some unknown and godforsaken reason, only infuriated her more.

"I should tend to her," he said after a while. He didn't want to leave the woman before him, not just yet, but the longer Shousha was left to her own devices, even locked up, the higher the risk for disaster.

"Will you come again?" he asked, standing.

"If that is your wish," she replied politely, which made him smile.

"I would like nothing more," he told her before bidding her a chaste farewell and heading up the stairs to face his hurricane.

The men slumped in relief when they saw him and he raised a brow. "That bad?"

"We thought she might come through the wall," one of them said, shifting nervously.

Katsura understood. Where he had given them orders to restrain her as they saw fit, they had little intention of causing her any harm lest their leader deem they had been too rough. Either that or they were afraid of getting hurt themselves.

Dismissing the two, he entered the room, nodding to his wife who was sitting dejectedly against a wall, eyes red and swollen. She hadn't even bothered to pull back her hair. That couldn't have been a good sign.

"Good afternoon," he greeted her, opening a chest and sifting through its contents. "how has your day been?"

She didn't answer him at first, though it wouldn't have surprised him if she remained silent. The past couple of days she had resorted to turning her nose up at him whenever he had the audacity to speak to her.

The energy in the room changed then and he stopped his search. He couldn't feel her anger.

"Is something wrong, Shousha?" he asked, keeping his back to her.

"I hear what they're saying," she said quietly. "I know what they accuse me of."

Katsura didn't move. She was speaking in a tone he had never heard from her. She wasn't whining or grieving. There was no resentment or bitterness. She was. . hurt.

"I'm not a bad person," she went on, her voice not much louder than a whisper.

"Would you like for me to put an end to the gossip?"

Shousha hugged her knees to her chest. It would be nice to silence the rumors and the snide comments, but that wouldn't change the way these men viewed her. To them she was dirty, clothing worn by the wrong type of man, then dumped on their doorstep for them to clean.

It was true that she harbored many of the same feelings towards them, but at least she kept to herself. The only men on the receiving end of her hatred were Iizuka and Katsura, both with good reason. She wasn't going to waste her time retaliating against a bunch of grunts.

"He never touched me."

Katsura turned to her, surveying her face which was, for the first time, blank as she spoke to him.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Soushi," she clarified, "He and I were never. . .never intimate."

With a soft breath of air, he smiled. "That is comforting news, Shousha. Thank you."

Not finding anything comforting about her situation, she only drew her legs closer to her body. "That isn't to say that I never kissed him," she told him, eyes staring through a vase to her right, "I'll never forget the way he- the way he-"

Katsura watched silently as she buried her face in her knees, crying quietly. This had to be a step forward. Though upset, she wasn't angry, and she wasn't violent. Subdued sorrow he could deal with. Hell, seeing her so openly vulnerable made him want to _ease _that pain.

He thought he had built up an immunity towards female tears a week ago, but as it turned out, he hadn't. He didn't like seeing women cry. Women weren't meant to shed tears, he had always thought. It was something they did because they were fragile, but it was a man's job to make sure that it didn't happen.

Then he married.

The delicately heartbreaking image of a weeping beauty was shattered, replaced by an ugly soggy mess of fabric, hair, and noise. Oh the noise! The yelling, screaming, throwing, and breaking all in the name of mourning had his head reeling and he couldn't remember a time when he had ever _resented_ the presence of a woman. It was also the first time he thought it might not be so bad if she were to sob herself to death, or at the very least, damage her vocal chords so she would be forced into silence.

But now that same sloppy monster of a woman was curled up against a wall of books, not making much noise, and not appearing so ugly.

Perhaps he should at least try to soothe her. Just a little.

Padding over to her, he knelt before her, just out of arms reach. He had never realized how small she was, much smaller than he, not that he was considered an overly large man. She really did suit Okita perfectly.

There were dozens of queries floating around his head, all of them unassuming to anyone else, but as he contemplated how to begin conversation with her, he found himself coming up with all the possible ways she could react to each one. After several minutes of back and forth, he settled for the most neutral topic he could think of.

"Have you eaten today?"

She shook he head and he sat back. That was no good.

"Are you hungry?"

Again she shook her head. It seemed like he would have to do all the talking.

"You should eat," he suggested, "You spend all day exhausting yourself; you'll only encourage your illness if you don't take proper care of yourself."

With one eye still hidden in the sleeve of her kimono, Shousha peeked up at him. "Why are you concerned about my health?"

"Shouldn't I be?" he asked curiously, "I understand your desire to fight against me, Shousha, but by refusing food you are only spiting yourself."

"But I'm not hungry," she told him quietly.

Studying her face for any indication that she might be lying to him, Katsura found himself defeated. She wasn't lashing out at him, but she wasn't bending to his conversation either. She was completely detached.

"You should eat," he repeated firmly, "I worry about you enough as it is. I do not want to walk in here and find you dead from starvation."

There it was. That spark in her eye. She lifted her head fully, staring at him in question.

"What do you care if I die?" she challenged.

He clenched his jaw. She was going to get very loud in a very short amount of time and she was far too unpredictable for him to foresee any action she might take.

Stretching out her arm, she pushed up her sleeve, revealing to him the hideous line of shiny flesh that marred her skin.

"Do you see that?" she asked. When he only stared at her with his chin raised just enough for him to show his rank over her, she thrust her arm forward. "_Do you?_"

"You know that I do, Shousha," he said simply.

"I have two," she said triumphantly, giving him a smirk and pulling back her other sleeve to reveal its twin. He didn't make any movement to react in his own defense and even when she stood, he sat there, placid and inviting her to continue.

"_You_ did this!" she seethed, shoving her scars into his vision. "You went through the trouble of making sure I was dead because you _didn't want to marry me._"

"Shousha, we've gone over this bef-"

"_WHY?_" she demanded, "Why would you do that? Why would you take so much time to kill me but, when asked if you would uphold the contract, when all you had to say was _no_ and you would be free-"

Katsura shook his head as she glared down at him, eyes burning with unshed tears and her breathing short and staggered. She was demanding answers she didn't want to hear.

"W-why?" she stammered, lips trembling, threatening to burst with sobs as she fell to her knees before him, "why couldn't you say _no_?"

"You wouldn't understand," he told her softly. Of course she wouldn't. He didn't even understand. It involved tradition, honor, and duty, yes, but also a mix of politics, finances, and the smallest hint of regret.

"What wouldn't I understand?" she asked, searching his face, "You don't want me. I don't want you. Just let me go home."

"You should eat," he responded, grunting slightly as he rose to his feet. "I'll have some lunch sent up to you."

Shousha sat there in silent fury. That was how he was going to answer her questions? Avoidance?

"I told you I'm not hungry," she snapped, balling her hands into fists.

"Yes, but I told you to care for yourself. Please eat."

"Just who do you think you are?" she bit off, rising and puffing out her chest in attempt to level with him.

"I am your husband," he replied simply, reaching down to tuck her hair behind her ears, "and it is my job to see that you are well."

Slapping his hand away, she began to breathe heavily and with one hand on her chest, backed away from him.

"You don't care," she panted, inhaling sharply each time she felt that horrible tickle in the back of her throat. "You're using me. You're making me suffer so that you can take advantage of Soushi."

She was growing weak. He saw the color begin to drain from her face and her legs were shaking as she struggled to remain standing. She needed to _eat_. Was she so set on defying him that she would risk her life to make a point? Was she that stupid?

"Shousha please sit down."

"I won't!" she screamed. "I won't do anything you tell me to do! I hate you! I _hate _you."

When her knees buckled and her vision went blank, Katsura stepped forward calmly, allowing the unconscious woman to fall into his arms. This had happened three times already and while he was glad that he was always there to catch her, he knew that if she exerted herself to the extent of fainting three times in one week, she would be dead sooner than either of them knew.

It was only a few minutes before she woke again, and he was glad that she didn't have the strength to sit up. He had sent for some food and he wasn't opposed to threatening her into eating. It wasn't that he was so eager to care for her, but she was a fighter and he respected that. She had survived the assassination; she had fought death once. He knew that she wouldn't succumb so easily to disease. In order to fight _him_, she would fight her consumption with everything she had, everything she was.

A will to live. He liked that.

xxxx

**Author's Notes:**I love love love Katsura/Ikumatsu. I could watch their scenes forever and get all girly and mushy over them every time, as subtle as they are.


	24. Beauty

**Author's Note: **All you need to know for this chapter is that the biggest influence on my writing style are historical romance novels.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs

**Changes in Friendship**

_Chapter Twenty Four_

Okita had never seen a more beautiful bride. None of them had. It could very well be said that they were biased, as they were young and had not been to many weddings and they were all quite fond of her. Still, there was no doubt about it; Takagi Tokio was, in fact, a wondrous sight for their terribly sore eyes.

It was a lovely spring day and as the Shinsengumi leaders sat alongside the impoverished Takagi family, everyone found themselves in good spirits. It was a small ceremony, quiet and intimate.

Tokio was positively glowing, unable to keep the blissful grin from her face. Her eyes shone and there was a distinct air about her that told everyone in the room that she felt indestructible.

Saitou too had an aura of happiness about him. His lips were turned up softly, an unusual, yet fitting look, and Okita wasn't entirely sure if his eyes had deceived him or not, but he was almost certain that each time the angular groom looked down at his bride, his cheeks became tinged with pink.

Next to him, Harada was sighing.

"Man I'd give anything to be up there," he said quietly. Okita looked over with a raised eyebrow and Harada gave his ribs light jab. "Not with _her_," he whispered.

Okita smiled at this, refocusing his attention to the wedding before them. He knew that Harada himself was desperately trying to win the affections of a woman and though completely infatuated with the cute miss from the market, no one was entirely sure whether she returned his feelings or not.

After the ceremony, they, along with the rest of the men at the dojo, broke out in celebration. Saitou hadn't wanted a party, wishing only to whisk his new wife away and spend hours upon hours in their new home wearing very little, and caring nothing for the world around them. Because he had admitted defeat in his love for her, he had agreed to her visions of elaborate festivities, if only for this once.

"She's radiant."

Okita turned his head away from the party to look at Takagi Kojuro who had come up beside him. Leaning on his crutch, he smiled and looked proudly over at his daughter who was accepting congratulations and cups of sake graciously.

"You must be proud," Okita said, "She is a wonderful woman. She will be a lovely wife and mother."

Kojuro nodded and for a moment, the two stood on the cusp of the celebration, observing, but not partaking. It wasn't that neither of them were joyous, but that for each of them, simply watching was enough.

"This was a good match," her father said, "I have never seen her so happy."

"It is a good match," Okita agreed softly. "They are very much in love."

Kojuro glanced over to the small captain at his side. He knew his daughter had chosen the right man to be her husband. He was a strong man, convicted in his beliefs and set in the ways of honor, respect, and duty to his country, and to his wife. He was sharp, perhaps a bit too arrogant, but Kojuro also knew that his Tokio would be able to soften this hardened man.

"And what of you?" he asked, unsure of how to approach the subject. Tokio had told him what had happened and he still hadn't been able to wrap his head around it. While he supported Katsura and his patriots, all the time he had known Shousha, she had been searching for her Ta-chan. How could he not be upset for her?

But Okita didn't seem to be upset at all.

"Me?" he asked, laughing, "I'm quite fine, Takagi-san."

"Will she be?"

Okita's smile faded. That was a question he didn't have the answer to. "I can't take her back," he said quietly. "It's out of my control."

With a disapproving shrug, Kojuro leaned up against the wall. "You won't even make a try for it? Seems to me like you have an advantage here. You find your girl, you find Katsura. That's what you want, isn't it?"

Okita steeled his jaw. "War is more complicated than that, Takagi-san," he said testily.

"Maybe so," he agreed, "but love isn't."

There was nothing Okita could say. He couldn't very well argue against a man who had given up his own leg in the name of love. It was remarkable, he thought, how Tokio's father had a way of shaming him into silence. Kojuro had made it quite clear months ago that he was only tolerating him for Shousha's sake. He had said it was because he disapproved of the Shinsengumi, yet he genuinely accepted Saitou and had, at the beginning of the reception, shared several drinks with Harada and Hijikata.

"I'd rather not speak about this now," he said, "I would like to keep the mood celebratory for my friends."

Kojuro nodded. "Of course."

Several hours later, Tokio was seated on the floor, giggling and waving away anyone who made an attempt to pull her to her feet. Saitou stood behind her, shaking his head at her and Harada was prodding her in the face, laughing when she tried to swat him away. She missed every time.

"How much did she drink?" he wondered aloud, pushing away a tray of sake that was offered to them. He was cutting her off.

Saitou pursed his lips. "I can't be sure."

They watched her for a while until she tilted her head back and tugged on her husband's hakama.

"Can we go home, Hajime?"

He raised a brow at her and smirked. "But I thought you wanted a party."

"I did," she replied. Something caught her eye then and she followed it to another point in the room, forgetting any trace of thought she may have previously had. Yes, it was most definitely time to go.

"She won't remember a thing," Harada said dejectedly. "That sucks."

"I could use that to my advantage," Saitou said plainly, scooping his tiny bride up into his arms. She yawned and settled against his chest, muttering something inaudible.

Harada frowned. "Hey, hey, don't be too rough with her."

Okita stepped in then, peering up at Tokio, then looking at Saitou questioningly. "Is she alright, Saitou-san?"

"She's merely drunk," he replied smoothly, "it should make the next few hours rather interesting."

As he swept away, Okita stood next to Harada, shocked that Saitou had posed an innuendo so freely.

"She won't remember a thing," he said sadly. "That's terrible."

Harada let out a snort. "Yeah, that's what I just said."

xxxx

The walk to his new home wasn't long, but it wasn't short either. Saitou kept not his usual swift pace, but a slower, calm stride, enjoying the feel of Tokio laying in his arms. She had been babbling words that didn't exist for the first few minutes, but after a while, grew tired and was now nestled in his strong hold, feeling safe and comfortable.

He liked this, he realized. He had always thought it would be a burden to have someone depend on him and rely on his presence for comfort. Why should they? No one had ever offered _him_ any comfort.

But that was why he was married now, he supposed. Women changed men, whether they wanted or admitted to or not. Now he had a purpose in life aside from the Shinsengumi. When the war was over and the fighting was done, he would still have a home to come to and a reason to come home to it.

Just as he crossed the threshold of their house, she stirred and looked up at him with groggy eyes.

"Am I drunk?"

He tilted his head down to look at her with very little expression. "You were. Are you still?"

Though her equilibrium might be off and her thoughts fuzzy, her speech was returning at least. That was good.

"Is this our house?"

He nodded, setting her down and using two hands to steady her before he moved to light a candle that he might guide her through it.

"It is not big," he told her, taking her hand when she made an attempt to step forward, her balance not yet having repaired itself, "and we will not live here permanently."

"Why not?" she asked, following him slowly. The house certainly seemed quite big to her, with its kitchen separate from the living area, a hallway, and a bedroom tucked away in the back.

"That all depends on the outcome of this war," he replied, opening the door to the bedroom and nudging her inside. There was a pile in the corner, a monstrous heap of gifts, all wrapped beautifully in the most delicate papers and fabrics. Saitou had these, along with their personal belongings, moved in that morning during the wedding preparations.

Tokio looked around, forcing herself to take it all in and doing her best to register and contain what was running through her mind. One thing she did notice, was the futon already laid out for them.

Her heart leaped nervously. When she had officially moved in with him they had begun sharing a bed. They had not, however, shared their bodies. She wasn't entirely sure why. He wanted her; he made it perfectly clear (sometimes without intending to), and she knew she wanted him too. She hoped he knew that she wanted him.

Tonight, whatever reservations had been present would dissolve and she would be his forever, body, heart and soul. He had stolen her soul, and she had freely given him her heart. Having both of those in his possession was much simpler and pleasing than it sounded, but the idea of him owning her _physically_ sent chills of delight and fear through her body.

"Your clothing and personal effects are here," Saitou explained, opening up a beautiful wardrobe to show a fine display of her kimono and some she didn't recognize. "I have provided for you everything you should need. You will want for nothing."

"Oh Hajime," she breathed, raising her hands to his face, glad that the effects of the alcohol were steadily melting away. He stared back at her, setting the candle down on a wooden tray at his side.

"You have given me a life I had not even dared to dream of," she told him, stroking the strong line of his jaw, "I need nothing but to love you."

Swallowing hard, he let her touch him and he didn't move to pin her to the bed that was just a foot or so away from them. _Be gentle_ he told himself.

He watched through the dim flickering of the candle as she moved her hand along his chin, his cheeks, the bones of his brow, and finally into his hair where she tugged on the tie that held it back. It fell out with ease and when her eyes widened and she watched him staring at her so intently, his heart leaped too.

"You're beautiful," she whispered.

He didn't know what about tonight made him more attractive than she might find him normally; she had seen him with his hair loose every night before this one. Even so, he shared her marvel.

Her hair wasn't in its usual state. It had been combed and pinned and twisted into an elaborate bridal topknot but as beautiful and doll like as it was, it had to go. He loved her hair, possibly more than any other part of her, save her breasts, and he longed for it.

Mimicking her actions, he pulled the pins from her head, letting each one drop with a soft plop onto the tatami. He could feel her eyes on him, tender and curious while he completed such an intimate task. What was she thinking, he wondered.

When her raven tresses tumbled down over her shoulders, he shuddered. The light bounced off the curve of each curl and the shadows covered all of her face, except for her lips, so soft, pink, and slightly parted. Was that an invitation? He didn't need one, he knew this, but as she looked up at him, doe-eyed and oh so very _very _virginal, he nearly lost control.

"Takagi Tokio," he began, cupping her face with both hands.

"Saitou," she said, frowning slightly. He froze, moving to pull his hands away at her abrupt tone, but she smiled at him, placing her tiny fingers over his own.

"_Saitou_ Tokio," she corrected him.

"Yes," he breathed. And then, he couldn't help himself. "_Yes._"

His fingers found her hair and his mouth found hers. As he devoured her, she moaned softly, pulling him closer to her. He leaned forward, setting her down on the futon and reaching behind her to untie her obi. It was more difficult than he had imagined; it had been tied in a more elaborate fashion for the special occasion and had he been a less patient man, he may have given up and kept her clothed.

He could have kept her clothed. She needn't be naked to make love to him, but he needed to see her. He needed to drink in the sight of her body and taste every last inch of her sweet smelling skin. He needed to memorize every freckle, every goose bump.

As it seemed, she needed him too.

When his tongue slipped through her teeth, taking control of her mouth, she took hold of his lapels and forcefully pushed the black fabric of his wedding kimono from his shoulders. He shook off the remaining fabric and once he was bare from the waist up, she arched her back, begging him to give her similar freedom.

He complied, naturally.

It was difficult to undress her, wearing more than she normally would, but if she was aware of his struggle, she did not make it known. Her hands were busy running up and down his lean back and gliding over the scarred chest that she had grown to adore. His muscles rippled under her touch and when he let out a masculine groan of pleasure, she bit down on his lip.

Wrenching his mouth away from hers, he sat back and pulled the rest of her clothing off in one vicious sweep. When the fabric was whisked away, she froze, drawing her arms up to cover herself.

"No," he growled, gripping her wrists and pinning them to the ground. He needed to _see _her.

And he did.

He had been with many women. It was difficult not to be when lust is one of the few pleasures that can take a man away from reality. He had been with many beautiful women. But he had never, _never_ seen a woman like this.

She was soft. Every curve in her body melted gracefully into the next. Her breasts, the perfect size to fit into his cupped hand, rose and fell with her steady breathing. Her waist was small, but her hips were full. Her legs, her wonderfully creamy legs were bent, knees locked together, keeping him from his treasure.

Gently, he released his hold on her wrists and moved his hands to her thighs, massaging her flesh as he traveled up to her knees. Keeping his eyes fixed on hers, he nudged them apart. She was biting the inside of her cheek, he noticed. She did that when she was nervous.

"Are you frightened?" he asked.

"N-no," she lied, legs resisting the soft beckoning of his hands. The truth was, she was terrified. What if he didn't like what he saw? What if he found her to be repulsive and refused to lie with her? He had seen all of her except her most womanly parts. There was a reason they were kept secret, wasn't there?

He smirked. Tokio was never shy, nervous, or timid. Now she was all three. It was cute, really. When his mind became clear and he had found his release, he would have to remember to tease her about it.

"It's alright, Tokio," he said, using more force than he should have as he pried her legs open. She squeezed her eyes shut and he let out another groan.

"_Oh fuck_."

Snapping her legs closed, Tokio scooted back, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. "I'm sorry!" she cried.

Recovering from that glorious sight that was he womanhood, Saitou reached out to take hold of her arm, pulling her to him, crushing her breasts against his own flesh, and taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger.

"You have nothing to apologize for," he told her, kissing her lightly, "you are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen."

"Even naked?" she asked. Really, there _was_ a reason people wore clothes.

"_Especially_ naked," he replied.

That seemed to pacify her and she relaxed in his hold, allowing him to lay her back down. He hovered over her, still clad in his hakama, his kimono hanging limply off the side. It didn't seem fair that he remained covered.

"Is something wrong, Tokio?"

"You still have clothes on," she said timidly, "that's not fair."

To this, he smirked, letting out a low chuckle. "I'm not certain you are ready to see a naked man."

"I am!" she protested, sitting up abruptly, missing colliding with his nose by less than an inch.

Saitou considered this, a million wicked fantasies playing through his mind. His manhood shared these wishes as it had been begging to be released since she had first uttered his name.

"Look at me," he ordered as he took one of her hands. She did as she was told, tucking her knees under her, and with one hand, he undid the knot of his hakama. It fell away with ease and with her hand, he traced his bare hips and she swallowed.

"Nervous yet?"

She only shook her head and he moved her to the cotton of his fundoshi, observing as she blinked quickly several times. He could hear the thudding of her heartbeat and felt the slight shaking of her hands.

Clenching her jaw, Tokio untied the garment, taking note of the soft quickening if her new husband's breathing. He was being patient, keeping himself at bay. He was always doing that, for her. It was time she did something for him. He had waited long enough.

Before she had a chance to second guess herself, she used her free hand to reach between their bodies, grasping for what she knew she would find.

When her hand wrapped around his hardened length, Saitou's head dropped forward to her shoulder in surprise. He hadn't expected her to be so bold and her actions had thrown off his calm and cool concentration. If he didn't regain his composure, there was no telling what he would do, or how he would do it.

"Tokio," he panted, "what are you doing?"

She had to be brave. Too often he had the upper hand. She tightened her grip slightly, not wanting to hurt him, and when she felt his teeth on the side of her neck, she grinned. She _would_ use this.

Feeling his heat in her hands, she felt alive, she felt mature, she felt _naughty. _She had a power over him in this moment, something she never thought to be possible. It was strange, she mused, how all she needed was to put her hands on him and he was hers.

Testing out this new power, she closed her hand fully around his shaft, delighting in the sharp inhale that followed. Kissing his collarbone, she allowed her hand to travel up and down the length of him, exploring and marveling as he swelled in her grasp, and wondering just how exactly that was supposed fit _inside_ of her.

"Hajime," she asked quietly, remembering something he had promised to explain, "what is fellatio?"

He didn't reply. He couldn't. His mind was blank. It had been so long since he had been in the hands of a woman, he had nearly forgotten what it was like. It would be the death of him.

"Tokio," he croaked, lifting his head and bringing his hand around hers, "let go."

He wouldn't be able to be gentle for her if she kept-_oh gods_-playing with him. She could have her southern expedition another time.

"I won't," she said, giving him a wicked smile. He had released her other hand and she brought it up to rest on his chest. When he stared her down, eyes clouded over with the dark haze of lust, she pushed him back, lightly. "I want to play."

Her words sent him over the edge.

Pulling himself free from her, he reversed her actions, pinning her beneath him.

"Not tonight, darling," he said huskily, parting her legs with his knees. He brought one hand up to her breasts, squeezing and watching with satisfaction as her eyes closed and she let out a soft moan. He was in control again. That had been easy.

With one hand playing with the soft mounds on her chest, the other traveled down to her thighs, tickling the tender flesh with feather-like touches. She arched her back, crying out when his mouth replaced his fingers and he took one of her perfect nipples between his teeth.

"_Oh Hajime!_" she panted, wiggling her hips as that familiar warm ache settled in between her legs, at her core.

"What is it?" he asked, hiding his smirk in her skin. He had her exactly where he wanted her, exactly where he swore to her he would have her. After all, Saitou Hajime always got his way.

"I _need_ you," she breathed, clawing at his back, making a furious attempt to bering him closer.

"Oh no," he said, right hand snaking its way down her body where it settled in the spot that she was so desperately trying to relieve. When he parted her lips and gave the tiny button at her center a small stroke, she let out the most deliciously erotic scream he had ever heard. And she had called out for _him_. His ego never needed a boost, but it was welcome regardless.

"I don't think we should finish this," he told her, pulling his hand away.

"Oh please," she said, groping for his hand, then his face, anything that could make her feel that again.

"You don't want me to."

"I do! _I do!_"

Yes, there it was. Just as he had told her. She was going to _beg_ for it.

"Tell me you want me," he whispered, his lips brushing against her ears as once again, he teased her with his fingers.

"I want you," she moaned obediently, bucking her hips and whining, "I_ need_ you Hajime. Please. _Please!"_

It was all he needed. He was victorious. Spreading her legs further apart, he positioned himself at her entrance, watching her face carefully. He knew that he would have plenty of nights with her to teach and to show her things her imagination would not have even be able to come up with. Tonight, however, would be simple. Her first time with him, her only first time with anyone, would be perfect.

He leaned forward, placing his large hands on either side of her head and with a soft grunt, slid inside of her. Her eyes popped open and she gasped. He stopped, feeling the resistance of her maidenhood.

"Are you alright?" he asked, shifting slightly as she adjusted to his size. She nodded, rubbing her hands on the side of his face and smiling.

"This will hurt," he told her, "but only this once."

Tokio swallowed and hugged his neck, rising to whisper in his ear as she braced herself, "I trust you, Hajime."

Nodding, he plunged forward, steeling his jaw to keep from pounding her senseless. _Gentle, gentle,_ he told himself.

As she felt the stinging of her lost virginity, Tokio froze. It hurt. He hadn't lied about that. But as he withdrew, the pain was eased just a bit, and when he buried himself inside of her again, it hurt even less than before. Pushing the thought of pain from her mind, she instinctively drew her legs up around his hips, locking him to her, and concentrating on the steady rhythm that he had created for them.

"Hajime," she whispered, still clinging to his neck.

He gave her a grunted reply and she closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of his flesh, the soft tickle of his hair against her face, and the furious pounding of his heart.

"I love you."

He knew that, and on any other night, holding her in his arms this way, he would have ignored it, dismissed it, and went on pleasuring them. Tonight, however, the words seemed to resonate, as if they were just as important as the consummation that was taking place.

Of course they were. Those small words voiced the feelings, the meaning behind their union. For him, this was new. He had been with many women, yes. But now, he realized, none of those fleeting, albeit necessary nights of passion held any merit at all. He had thought himself to be a wonderful lover, and while those women may have agreed, he knew now that he hadn't been a lover at all. Up until now, he had been a man satisfying his most primal urge.

That was because up until Tokio, he had never _loved_.

xxxx

**Author's Note:** :) Saucy.


	25. Rain

**Author's Note: **

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs

**Changes in Friendship**

_Chapter Twenty Five_

The rain that fell from the sky was heavy. It thundered on the rooftops and splashed against the umbrellas of those brave enough to venture into its downward path. Okita was one such soul and when he entered a small shop in the middle of the city, he brushed the rain from his shoulders.

A middle aged man came out from a back room, wiping his his dusty hands on his grimy hakama.

"Help you?"

Okita looked up, clearing his throat. "Are you Nobu?"

The shopkeeper looked at him wearily. "That depends on who's asking." Though his words were firm and strong, his voice lacked the robust vibrato of a man sure of himself. Okita knew why. This man was a Choshu supporter. He had a strong fear and distaste for the Shinsengumi.

"Hiroto sent me," Okita said softly.

Nobu looked up sharply. What business did she have speaking with this sort of man?

"If you would," the captain said, pulling out an envelope, "have Omiro deliver this to Katsura."

Gritting his teeth, the older man steeled his gaze. "I won't be involved in trouble."

"It's not trouble," he replied gently, "It's just a letter. You may read it if you like." Nobu snatched the missive from the young captain's hands as he added, nearly inaudibly, "for his new bride."

Reading the letter, Nobu nodded and tucked it away. "and Hiroto-chan?"

"I have no qualms with her," Okita said simply, placing some money on the counter and turning, "or your nephew."

When he stepped back outside, any spot on him that may have dried became instantly soaked again. The umbrella he had brought offered him little sanctuary from the water, but he carried it anyway. It had been difficult to reject Tokio's insistence. She'd changed since she's married just a week ago, and now that he saw less of her, he was glad for her new wife-like behavior.

He had thought that as time went on, he'd have been able to continue on, to forget, no, _accept_ the loss of his beloved. It was once said that it is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all. Clearly that person had not been speaking from experience.

It was fair to say that he was being harsh on himself, expecting to be healed from a wound not yet a month old, but he couldn't help it. He was conflicted. Consumed by grief, yet trained to put sorrow behind him, if he allowed himself to feel it at all.

This was difficult for Okita. He knew that for the sake of his position, he had to keep his mind clear and look only to the future, being sure to free himself of any distractions. On the other hand, he was a sensitive man who wasn't afraid of his own emotions. It was only recently that he had discovered being in love, but even if he hadn't, Shousha had been by his side his entire life. How could he dismiss her so easily?

He felt guilty, missing her so badly. He supposed she would be happy, knowing that he was grieving, but she wouldn't have any way of knowing how he felt. She could assume, but assuming never got anyone anywhere. Missing her was selfish. He missed her because _he_ wanted to be with her, because _he _felt lonely without her to talk to or scold. Mourning, he realized, was a completely self satisfying action.

But it couldn't be helped.

Not ready to go home just yet, he took a turn down a less familiar street. He had half a mind to pull the umbrella closed and just let the rain melt him away. A bench up ahead, however, pulled him from his self-pitying thoughts.

A woman sat there, clothes soaked, raven hair dripping. There was no one else around this steadily darkening evening, and there was nothing that covered her from the rain. She was shivering, and he hurried over, arm outstretched to protect her from the weather.

"Miss! Miss are you alright?"

She ignored him, face buried in her hands, shoulders shaking as she sobbed. He stood there for a moment, holding the umbrella over her head. When she made no move to acknowledge him, he sat next to her.

"I know how you feel," he said quietly.

She hiccuped, and he watched the shaking of her shoulders. He knew those shoulders. He knew the tiny curve of that back and the jet color of that hair.

He wanted to touch her. He wanted to pull her close and kiss the top of her head. _I'm here_, he'd say, _I'm here and I won't leave you._ But he couldn't. His body wouldn't move. He could feel the rain on his shoulders, soaking through his clothes and sliding down his back. He knew that wherever the sun was behind all the clouds, it was steadily setting and night was taking over. What he didn't know, was why she was here, alone, and why, even though she was sitting underneath his umbrella, the rain still poured over her head.

"Shousha we should go," he said softly, "you'll be sick if you stay out here any longer."

Again, she ignored him and when he finally gathered the nerve to lift his hand to her, a small voice called out next to him.

"Who are you talking to, mister?"

He turned, his gaze meeting that of a young boy, holding the hand of what appeared to be his little sister. Okita blinked for a second, then turned back to the bench. Beside him, where he had been so certain she had been sitting, was nothing but a puddle. No one was sitting next to him, taking refuge beneath his parasol, and judging by the amount of water that had gathered, no one had been there for quite some time.

He sighed, smiling at the children before him. "I must be getting old," he told them, moving his arm to shield them from the rain instead. "Where are your parents?"

These children did not look like orphans. Though soaked through, they were clean, and had enough meat on their bones to indicate that they were well fed. Their eyes were bright and alert, not sunken and dark like those of a street urchin.

"Mama is at home," the boy, hardly more than six years old, told him, "she is crying, like the sky."

"Why is she crying?" he asked. It wasn't any of his business, but if her children had been wandering around in the rain, perhaps something horrible had happened.

"It's because of the Battou-man," the little girl said, squeezing her brother's hand, "that's what mama said."

The boy nodded. "Papa isn't coming home anymore. That's why mama is like the sky."

As he watched their sad faces turn towards the ground, Okita felt his heart break. They were far too young to have lost their father, and now it seemed that they didn't have much of a mother either, if she was so consumed by her sorrow as to allow her children to run off. Or perhaps she hadn't noticed.

"Are you hungry?" he asked. Both of their little heads snapped up and their eyes looked at him hopefully. He smiled at them and stood, scooping up the little girl in one arm, and taking the boy's hand in his other. Gleefully, the little girl held the umbrella over them.

"I know of a place where we can get good food," he told them, "and you'll be able to dry off. We don't want you to become sick now, do we?"

They shook their heads and Okita started down the road. Saitou wouldn't be too keen on having so many guests for dinner, but luckily for all of them, it was Tokio who had the final say in matters of the home. She would never turn away starving children.

After they ate, he would leave them to sleep and head towards their mother. If their father had been slain by the Battousai, there was a good chance that he had been one of their own. Okita wasn't sure. So many of them died it was becoming difficult to keep track anymore. At the very least, the wife of the late soldier deserved his condolences. She should also know that her children were safe for the night.

"What happens if we meet the Battou-man, mister?" the little girl asked, hugging his neck.

Okita let out a small chuckle. He had always hoped to run into the Battousai, though tonight was one night that he would much rather not wield his weapon.

"I will protect you both, I promise."

"You have the same clothes as papa did," her brother said, looking up at the captain, "I bet you are a great swordsman. My papa was amazing."

He smiled at this, squeezing the boy's hand slightly in reassurance. "I am sure that he was."

xxxx

Looking out her window into the sheet of water that fell outside, Shousha decided that she was through with being married. It wasn't that she had been for it in the first place, but for three weeks she had been the target of untrue rumors, nasty looks, and more often than not, had been completely ignored by her husband.

She wasn't entirely sure why this made her angry. She wanted him to leave her alone, and he did. He only spoke to her when necessary, and as he always attended business with the other men, was very rarely in her presence throughout the day.

One person who _hadn't_ left her alone, however, was Katsura's little woman, Ikumatsu. She had taken it upon herself to, as she phrased it, 'understand Shousha and help her adapt to life among revolutionary men'. Katsura had gladly agreed to this, wanting nothing more than the weight of the wife off his back, so long as Ikumatsu used extra caution when Shousha took ill.

Shousha did _not_ agree with this plan of action.

"I don't need friends," she had told the geisha one day over a reluctant spot of tea. "and I most certainly don't need you."

But for all her politeness and grace, the woman was quite adamant. "I believe we will come to grow together as friends once you realize that I hold no ill intentions towards you."

That was why, despite the rain, Shousha was preparing to run away. She had tried to run before, but as her door was guarded at all times and so was the gate, she never managed to get far. This time, she was going to leave from above.

As she leaned out into the rain, she shielded her eyes, not that it did much good. The water was thick and the fog that rose from every surface impeded her vision even more. Even still, she was sure she could make the jump from her window to the next roof in the compound. She had to.

Standing on the ledge, she pulled her tabi from her feet. She'd have to do this barefoot if she expected any results. With one quick breath and her eyes squeezed shut, she jumped.

The landing wasn't nearly as bad as she thought it would have been, though she did twist her ankle slightly. She nursed it for a few seconds, then sat down, catching her breath and grinning. She had done it. She had escaped her room.

She didn't know where they were, but she was sure that if she could only manage to make it over the gate and onto the street, she would eventually find _something_ familiar to guide her.

Just as she was about to continue on with her trek, a figure appeared in her window. Ikumatsu.

"Shousha, dear!" she called out, "what are you doing up there?"

The rain was too heavy and falling too quickly for her to hear the delicate woman's small voice and while it would have been very easy to ignore the sounds that came drifting through the wind, when Ikumatsu hoisted herself up onto the window herself, Shousha's heart quickened.

"Are you crazy?" she shouted back, "You'll break your neck!"

Shousha wasn't as tough or as agile as her friend Tokio, but she knew well enough how to climb a wall and how to travel by rooftop. She had, after all, grown up in the company of boys. The same could not be said for the fragile flower hanging out her window. Not only had she been raised and trained to be proper at all times, but her elaborate state of dress most certainly did not make for hopping around.

As annoyed as she was with the woman, Ikumatsu was kind, motherly even, and Shousha didn't want to see her get hurt. With a groan, she headed back towards the main house of the inn.

"Get back inside, Ikumatsu," she barked, "and leave me alone!"

Ikumatsu studied the woman before her, hair plastered to the sides of her face, clothing four shades darker than it originally was, and her lips beginning to change from pink to orchid as the iciness of the rain began to set in. She would get very sick very quickly if she didn't come inside.

The geisha wasn't entirely sure why _she_ was standing barefoot on a ledge, with nothing holding her up from the ground but impeccable balance and a wooden beam. The wind whipped through her, threatening that perfect posture, and daring her to come forth.

She had been trying to decipher the mystery that was Yamata Shousha and the harder she tried, the more she was beginning to realize that she wasn't a mystery at all. Her motives were simple, her actions plain, and the few emotions that coursed through her veins were that of a woman scorned. Hell hath no fury, and all.

But Shousha was full of fury. She simply needed to re-direct it.

"If you don't come back inside, I'm coming out there to get you."

Shousha laughed at this. "Come on out then," she said, crouching and crossing her arms, "though I doubt you could make it."

That was when Ikumatsu did something she would never forget.

She jumped.

Shousha let out a cry, scurrying back as her husband's lover made the brave leap from window to roof. A part of her was surprised, but mostly she was afraid that her taunting may have very well led to something disastrous. It hadn't, and as Ikumatsu's fingertips caught the fringe of the shingles, Shousha let out a deep breath.

"I can't believe you really jumped," she said, leaning forward, her elbows on her knees, watching her dangle.

"Oh please, help me up."

"It's hard isn't it?" Shousha sneered, "hanging by a thread in an unfamiliar space with none of your friends around to help you. If you let go, you might die, but if you hold on, someone might come around to save you."

Ikumatsu could feel her makeup washing away, and her hair falling out of it's elaborate coiffure, but she hardly paid any attention to that. Her kimono weighed too much and now that it was steadily becoming laden with water, her delicate fingers were offering little support for the rest of her. She doubted she would die if she fell, but she'd be hurt badly.

"I can't hold on much longer," she gasped.

Shousha bent down, whispering into her ear, "neither can I."

Just then, Katsura appeared below and neither woman would be quick to forget the expression that came over his face. He stood frozen for a few seconds, horrified and angry, before resuming his default composure and positioning himself underneath Ikumatsu.

"Let go, darling," he called up to her, "I'll catch you."

Shousha smirked. "You got lucky."

When she was safely in his arms, Ikumatsu allowed herself to breathe again. He set her down gently and tilted her face towards his.

"What thoughts could have possibly been running through your head?"

She smiled, lowering her lashes, "I'm not sure what came over me, but I did not want her to be out here alone."

Closing his eyes, Katsura began to count, allowing the numbers to take over his mind and calm his thoughts.

"Please go inside. See that you change your clothing. I will prepare an escort for you to return home safely."

She nodded and did as she told her. Once she was out of his sight, he allowed his irritation to show through.

"And _you_!" he said fiercely, pointing a finger at his wife, "get down here. You'll catch a cold."

"I won't come down even if you send the Battousai up here!" she screamed, "I'm through with this place!"

"You will come down here right this instant."

"Or you'll what?" she challenged, "come up here and get me yourself?"

It was then that Katsura's patience had come to an end.

"Fine!" he shouted, throwing up his hands, "If you want to act like a child, go ahead. Run away or stay up there and drown! I don't care anymore."

It was childish of him, but enough was enough.

Shousha should have felt victorious. There should have been a wide toothy grin that spread across her face and she _should_ have jumped to her feet and ran.

But she didn't.

Despite getting her way, she felt exactly as he described her. Childish. Petulant and immature. All the motivation she had washed away as she crouched down on the roof and allowed the rainwater to run over her body while she stared out into the dusk.

How had her life come to this, she wondered. Twenty-three, married to a man she didn't understand, aching for the one she loved, and sitting barefoot on a roof in the freezing rain, feeling like a complete ass.

She didn't know what to do, or where to go from here. He had granted her freedom in his anger, but now that she had made a scene, there was no doubt he had men patrolling the perimeter, waiting. She also knew that unless she was within five minutes of the dojo, she wouldn't make it there alive.

The water hung heavy on her hair and clothing. Her toes were stinging from the cold and her head was beginning to pound from the chattering of her teeth. If she were going to escape, she'd have to run. Exerting herself to that extent would be too much on her body and she would most likely cough herself into oblivion or lose consciousness on the empty roads, perhaps both.

She contemplated this for a while. On one hand, she was desperate to go home. But on the other, she lacked a warrior's 'succeed or die trying' attitude. She didn't understand the purpose of self sacrifice. What good would dying on the streets do? It wouldn't do her any, and it certainly wouldn't ease Soushi's troubled mind.

That was why, nearly an hour later, she thrust open the door to the room she shared with Katsura. Slamming it shut, she crossed her arms.

"Are you happy?" she snapped.

He was seated with a tray before him, writing. A few candles burned next to him, a mirage of warmth.

"I will not play these games with you, Shousha," he said simply, not bothering to look at her. "I have neither the patience nor the desire."

"You don't have the desire to do anything that might throw off your perfect schedule, do you?"

The speed at which he moved frightened her. Within an instant he spun her around and with a few quick pulls, her obi fell to the ground. In one quick yank, her kimono followed suit and she couldn't even conjure up the thought to scream. She didn't have enough feeling in her feet to scurry away, so she squeezed her eyes closed, covered her bare chest with her arms, and waited for the punishment of masculine fury she knew she was about to receive.

Except, it never happened.

In one fluid movement, before he even could have had the chance to look at her properly, a large blanket was draped over her.

"You'll freeze to death in those clothes," he murmured, sitting back down. "you should warm up before you get dressed again."

Pulling the quilt around her shivering body, she turned her head, looking at him. He was already refocused on his work.

"I hate you," she hissed, her pride getting the better of her, regardless of the words of thanks at the tip of her tongue.

"So you've said."

She turned completely, staring him down. "You don't seem all that affected by it."

"No," he agreed, "I suppose I'm not. Though, tell me one thing, Shousha. Why do you hate me so much?"

"You know why," she replied coldly.

To this, he put down his brush and placed his chin on his fist. "No. I don't. I do understand a _part_ of your resentment towards me. We have discussed this and I do not seek your understanding nor do I expect your forgiveness. What I would really like to know, is why you hate me_._ Not my choices, _me._"

She backed away slightly, observing him cautiously. "You're a patriot," she replied, "Choshu trash with pathetic ideals and stupid dreams of an era that could never be."

Katsura raised an eyebrow. "That is a harsh accusation, my dear."

"It's true," she spat.

He smiled thoughtfully. "Perhaps we can rectify this then. Please, tell me: which of my, as you say, _pathetic_ ideals do you not agree with? I am more than willing to come to neutral grounds with you. Shall we engage ourselves in a debate?"

Shousha raised her chin, "What does it matter? I hate you and you hate me."

It was then that Katsura realized something very important. "You have no idea what is happening, do you?" he asked, wide eyed and slightly disbelieving.

Her face said it all. She had been fed gossip, lies, and bits and pieces of news, but she was completely oblivious to any of the political details of the war between him and the Shogunate. She was defending a world that she didn't know anything about, and retaliating against an unknown change. Foolish woman.

"I know enough," she retorted, "I know that you are leading rebels to destroy our government."

"That isn't it at all," he told her, searching her face.

"It doesn't matter!" she screeched, "You are disgusting! I am ashamed to be here!"

"Then tell me this," he clipped, growing steadily more irritated with her naive devotion to the Shinsengumi, "do you even know _why_ you dislike me? Or am I simply a man who has the misfortune of opposing Okita Soushi?"

Her breath caught and as she stared at him fearfully, he knew he had won.

"That's what I thought."

"You-"

"Ignorance is dangerous, Shousha," he interrupted sharply, "but blind loyalty is completely useless."

"I'm not useless," she protested weakly, lip trembling as she hugged the warm blanket around her, "am I?"

Katsura shifted his weight, sighing and returning to his work. "Politically, you are biased and uneducated so I can not seek your insight. Emotionally, you are invested in another man. Domestically, I don't trust you could cook anything worth eating. Sexually, you don't exist, and physically, you are dying before my eyes. What use could I have for you?"

Unable to ignore the sting of his bitter, yet true words, Shousha silently dressed herself in her sleepwear. It was early still, but she had reason enough to turn in soon. Wanting distraction, she sat by the window, sliding it open just enough for her to look out into the rain that she had so foolishly sat in. The chill was still in her bones and she hugged her knees to her chest, reaching for the blanket.

"I'm tired of being useless," she said quietly.

Interest piqued, Katsura looked her way. "I beg your pardon?"

"I've always been someone's problem, someone's burden," she replied, staring out the window, "My parents always told me I was a stain on the family. It never bothered me because I had Soushi. He always protected me from their words or from the kids with nasty things to say. Even when he started his training, he always took on my battles for me, even the ones I started. Sometimes I think that's the reason he left without telling me. I think he needed to be free."

Katsura remained quiet for a moment, appreciating her willingness to share a little bit of her with him.

"I believe he kept you ignorant for your own sake," he told her softly.

"That's what he told me," she said, "but even still, when I found him again, I promised myself that it would be different. I would repay him for all his years of comfort, patience, and guidance. I was going to protect _him_.

"I've never killed a person, so I don't know what it's like, but I've lived with enough men to know what it does to their spirits and their souls. I never wanted Soushi to end up like them. I wanted him to be smiling forever. I was going to bear his burden instead of _being_ his burden. But then..."

She rested her chin on her knees, squeezing back her tears. Gently, Katsura came up beside her, curious.

"But then?"

She sighed shakily, "...I got sick."

Understanding, he nodded. They sat together in a comfortable silence for a while, both staring out into the night. He didn't know what it was like to feel useless; he had always been a leader, even as a child. It also surprised him that she felt this way. He had assumed her to be a spoiled, selfish brat who thought herself entitled to the world. While it was true that she was indeed spoiled, and bratty more often than not, her insecurities were genuine.

"I don't hate you," he told her, putting his forearms up on his raised knees.

She looked over to him, misty eyed. "What?"

"You said I hated you," he clarified, "I don't. I find you immature, ill mannered, infuriating, and you often make me frustrated and resentful. But I do not hate you."

And for the first time since she had come to be in this place, Shousha felt comforted.

xxxx


	26. Hiroto

**Author's Note: **How many characters' lives can I weave together?

I don't generally like to post things out of order, but I realized after I started writing, that chronologically, because of things mentioned in the previous chapter, this one _has_ to take place earlier. So, sorry about that haha

Also, I have to brag for a moment. After ten years (yes, TEN YEARS) of waiting, I am finally the proud owner of an official RK Okita Soushi action figure. Boo ya! My wallet hurts now though.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs

**Changes in Friendship**

_Chapter Twenty Six_

_ Several days earlier..._

Hiroto stood at the open gate to the Shieikan dojo knowing very well she shouldn't have been there. She had not told her parents where she was going and had even left Omiro in the dark of what she had set out to do.

The guards looked at her curiously, neither of them able to judge her intentions by the way she gazed inside, eyes wide with wonder and apprehension.

She took a couple steps forward, then hesitated. Should she turn back? The trouble she could find herself in would be immeasurable if things did not go the way she planned them.

"Can we help you, miss?"

Drawing her hands up into the sleeve of her furisode to hide her shaking fingers, she looked to the two men at the gate with cautious green eyes.

"Y-yes," she forced out, swallowing as she eyed them. They were huge and probably much faster than she was. Would they try to hurt her? She had met one of the miburo and he had been kind, but they were called wolves for a reason.

"I'm...I'm looking for Okita Soushi."

"What business does a kid like you have with the likes of Okita-san?"

None, really, she realized. He outranked her by miles, in both status and age, and as she didn't not associate with anyone else who supported the Shogunate, all odds were against her.

"He must be feeling terribly," she replied, "I want to speak with him."

"The captain is fine," the other man replied, "now hurry along."

Hiroto bit down on her lip hard. In her head, she had a dozen phrases set up for conversation with those who guarded these gates, and in her planning, all had gone rather smoothly and they had allowed the polite and gentle young lady in without question.

But things were not going smoothly. As much as she might have been a polite and gentle young lady, she lacked confidence in the face of strong men. Her eyes darted around nervously and she shifted in her place, adding to her suspicious appearance.

"I am a friend," she tried again, but her voice was weak.

The first man who had spoken, an impulsive sort of man, drew his sword. "Do I have to drive you away by force?"

Heart slamming against her chest, she was frozen in her fear. She'd never had a blade pointed at her before. If he intended to use it against her or simply frighten her, she would never know, because another blade came to rest across his own.

"You dare draw your sword at an innocent?"

The guard gasped and turned his head to face the casually curious face of Hijikata who was holding his own sword lightly, but it's weight bore down on the own steel in his hands, telling him to put down his weapon.

"Hijikata-san!" he cried, "This girl's trying to get at Okita-san!"

"Is that so?"

"She said so herself! She wanted to see him."

Hijikata withdrew his weapon, sheathing it. "And this is reason to threaten her life?"

"It is my duty not to trust anyone, Hijikata-san," he replied, "I will not ignore possible threats simply because she is a woman."

"And I will not have the blood of a young girl on our hands," the vice-commander said coolly, before turning his attention to the aforementioned female. "Girl. What is your business with Okita?"

Trembling, Hiroto lifted her eyes to meet his, and found herself trapped in the gaze of the most beautiful man she had ever seen. Her words were caught in her throat and when she finally managed to choke something out, it was inaudible.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I just wanted to visit," she repeated, bowing so low at the waist, she feared she might have bent herself in half completely.

Hijikata studied her for a moment. She looked familiar to him. This was unusual, as he generally did not pay much attention to women, save for the nights he desired company, and this peasant girl had no distinguishing features. She didn't appear to have a very memorable personality either, as she stood there shaking in fear of them all.

"Come here," he told her, "we shall have a chat."

Hiroto looked up. "W-what?"

He glanced at her haughtily. "Or perhaps you'd prefer to stand in the street like a fool?"

"N-no!" she stammered, hurrying through the gate. Hijikata nodded his head to the guards and the giant wooden doors slammed shut behind her.

"I'll ask you again," he began as they walked through the courtyard of the giant complex, "what reason do you have to seek out a man such as Okita?"

Feeling slightly relieved that she was in the presence of a man who did not want her dead (yet), _and_ outranked the first captain (or at least she gathered as much by the way he spoke), she was able to speak more freely.

"It is just as I said," she replied, "I want to visit with Okita-san. I can only imagine how broken his heart must be."

"So you wish to bring back such a painful memory to satisfy your own curiosities?"

His words pierced her and she looked up at him, lip trembling. "I hadn't thought about it that way," she whispered.

A memory clicked in Hijikata's mind then and he halted, blocking her path and staring down at her.

"You're that Choshu girl, aren't you? From the hospital."

Face burning, Hiroto looked away. What would he do now? She couldn't avoid his question, and she wasn't clever enough to lie. She should never have come. She had put herself, and her family, in danger, and there was no one on her side in here.

"My family is not of the Choshu clan," she replied truthfully, "but we do favor the revolutionaries."

A smile crept up onto Hijikata's features. _How interesting_.

"I can only imagine then that they do not know you are here."

"No," she said quietly. If he killed her now, no one would know where to look for her body. It was a terrifying thought.

When she allowed herself to look to him again, to gauge his reaction, she was surprised. He didn't seem upset, threatened, or suspecting of her. Instead, his face bore an amused curiosity.

"You must be very brave then, to come in here and admit that so freely."

"I believe lying would have worse consequences," she said.

"Indeed," he mused, starting his stride again. "So then, little revolutionary girl, you care for Okita so much that you would risk your life to see him?"

"It's not like that!" she protested softly, "though, if you do kill me, would you at least put my body in a place that my parents could find it? I'd like for them to be able to find some peace in my death."

It was then that Hijikata did something completely unexpected.

He began to laugh.

It was small at first, a small twitching at the side of his mouth. Then a light chuckle bubbled up in his throat that he tried to hide with a couple coughs into his fist, but within a few seconds, he gave up, and threw back his head with a loud barking sound and a wide smile.

Unsure of what she had done to warrant such a reaction, Hiroto looked around. It seemed that everyone else observing the scene was just as confused as she.

"Er, Hijikata-san?"

"Oh girl," he sighed, allowing a few more chuckles to escape before shaking his head, still unable to keep the smile from his face, "you _are_ interesting."

"I only want to repay Okita-san's benevolence," she said as firmly as she could, doing her best to direct his attention away from humor at her expense.

Returning to a state of calm, he looked down at her mildly. "What benevolence was this?"

"Well," she started, swallowing hard, "there was a time that he spoke with my-" she paused, not ready to use the new title Omiro had achieved. "-my _fiancee_ with no ill will. They spoke as men, and even laughed together. He was so kind when he didn't have to be."

"Okita is often kind when he does not need to be," he replied.

Hiroto smiled. "Yes. A true samurai."

Hijikata didn't reply to this, but as he placed his hand on her lower back, steering her towards the training hall, there was the faint trace of a smile on his face. This girl was a lot braver than she might have felt, and much more courageous than she gave herself credit for. Where were all of these females coming from, he wondered.

Standing at the entrance to the area that Okita was working diligently with his students, the vice-commander cleared his throat.

"Okita."

Halting, the first captain looked over with a grin, "Hijikata-san! What can I do for you?"

"You have a visitor," he replied calmly, stepping aside and nudging Hiroto forward, "I believe you remember this young miss."

Eyes wide, he placed his bokken back on the rack, shouted an order at his pupils, and hurried over, wiping his forehead with a nearby towel.

"Hiroto-chan," he said, coming up to her. She was not someone he had ever expected to see again and though confusion should have been at the front of his mind, he found her presence to be strangely relieving.

"I'm sorry for surprising you this way," she said, bowing, "but there is something I would like to discuss with you, if you will allow it."

Okita looked to Hijikata who nodded in approval, having already sized her up.

"Of course," he replied sweetly, giving her a gentle smile, "perhaps we could have some tea."

When the two of them were seated in the living area, a silence had settled over them. Okita watched her with interest and she concentrated on pouring his tea, visibly mindful of every action she took. She was practicing, he noted, just as a girl her age should. He remembered when Shousha was that age, training to become a woman, preparing to become a wife.

He looked back on that time fondly now. He had sat before her then, her guinea pig as she, too, had practiced preparing and pouring. While he sat calmly and encouragingly before Hiroto, during Shousha's adolescence, he had poked fun at her, doing everything in his power to make her laugh, slip up, and start over.

Back then his reasoning had been that he was fourteen, fifteen, sixteen years old, and he lived to tease her. She was, after all, his best friend. Now that he had grown, he realized that those times he had made her begin the motions again were because he wanted to extend their time, to capture that moment forever.

"You will make a very good wife," he told Hiroto gently, accepting the hot beverage.

"I hope to," she replied tucking her hands into her lap, "Omiro has chosen me as his bride. I don't want to disappoint him."

The cup halted just before his lips and he smiled widely, "Hiroto-chan, congratulations!"

The blush that spread across her features was pretty, Okita noticed, but the giddy upturn of her lips was an expression that he savored. He was glad that the boy had taken his advice, and even happier that this young woman had risen to meet his proposal. He was certain that if _he_ had proposed at sixteen, Shousha might have thrown him down a flight of stairs.

Hiroto's smile soon disappeared, however, and she began to bow in apology. "Please forgive me, Okita-san!" she cried, "I speak of my engagement excitedly without consideration for your own broken heart."

He let out a little laugh and motioned for her to raise her head. "Who said my heart was broken?"

Though he had only meant to brush off the subject, Hiroto stared at him as if he had stricken her. Her face was pale and her eyes went wide as her chest began to rise and fall with shudders.

"I thought you loved her," she whispered, voice disbelieving as if she were feeling betrayal on Shousha's behalf.

Placing the teacup down on a tray before him, he let his face fall slightly. "I'm sorry," he said, admitting, "I'm new at the grieving process."

Hiroto scooted forward, "So, you do miss her then?"

"Hiroto-chan," he started, exhaustion coming over him, but she interrupted him.

"I shouldn't have said that," she admitted, "I'm sorry. It's none of my business."

It wasn't she that had spoken wrongly, it had been him and he knew it. How ungrateful he must have sounded, having begged her and Omiro to save Shousha's life, then dismissing the woman once circumstances were out of his control.

He hadn't meant what he said; his heart was in as many pieces as there were stars in the night sky. He had grown so accustomed to denying it, forcing everyone around him to believe that he had accepted the events, that he found himself unwilling to admit his emotional state to anyone.

"You said there was something you wanted to discuss with me, Hiroto-chan?"

She looked to the side awkwardly. "I thought you might like my help," she said quietly, "I know a way for you to get word out to her."

Okita felt himself freeze where he sat. Was she serious? She must have noticed his shock because she looked up, tears shimmering in her eyes.

"I _know_ how much you love her!" she cried before shrinking back and lowering her voice, "and Omiro tells me of how she aches for you. I just thought..."

Disregarding all pretense, Okita jumped forward, gripping her shoulders and staring into her mossy eyes.

"_Yes._" he said fiercely, "_please_."

Hiroto nodded hurriedly.

"What do you want?" Okita asked her, releasing her and sitting back, trying to swallow the furious pounding of his heart. "in return for your assistance."

"I don't want anything," she told him with a half smile, "because I can't sit idle when love is in danger."

If she hadn't been so young, Okita could have kissed her.

xxxx

"Oh Tokio, isn't it lovely?"

Tokio watched her little sister twirl around in her new kimono, flitting about the new house with more energy and joy she had ever seen in the child.

"And I have _ten_ more!" she cried, holding up all her fingers, "and then some yukata too!"

Tokio nodded enthusiastically and by her side, Saitou stared down at the little girl. Though his mouth was set in its usual straight line of boredom, his eyes were smiling.

"We might just be able to find you a husband then, won't we?"

Mitsu looked up at him with adoring eyes. "Oh, Jime-nii," she swooned, "do you really think so?"

Saitou gave her a stern once-over. "If you keep your hair combed and learn to make a decent meal, it might not be so difficult."

"You don't have to find a husband for me," she replied matter-of-factly, "I've already picked out the man I want to marry."

Amused, he let one corner of his mouth turn up. "Really now?"

Motioning for him and Tokio to crouch down to her level, Mitsu cupped her hands around her mouth lest anyone else hear the name she was about to reveal.

"Okita Soushi," she whispered, face turning red before erupting into a fit of giggles. "Shousha's Ta-chan is who I want to marry."

Saitou stood, looking over at his wife and nodding approvingly. "If nothing else, they are a match in height."

"Don't be unkind, Hajime," she scolded, swatting at his shoulder with a cheeky grin.

It hadn't quite been a week yet since they'd married, but she found herself slipping into the routine of life alone with him with ease. Aside from keeping a private dwelling, not much else had changed. She did all the same chores she had done at the dojo, the only difference being that she did so alone.

Being alone bored her. While she was glad that once the house was exactly as it should be, she was able to have plenty of time to herself as opposed to tending to the needs of everyone else's husband, after a few hours of solitude, she did wish for company.

Saitou both recognized and respected this. He had agreed to let her come to the dojo with him a couple days each week, also allowing her to see Okita and Harada, though neither of the two had felt the need to refrain from visiting her at home.

As agreed upon, he had moved Tokio's father and sister into the home of Hiromu Fumiko, and while he stood in that house with his new bride, he felt his first surge of husbandly pride. He had provided Tokio with material goods since she first began to live with him, and he always _told _her what he would do for her family, but now that his plans had moved into actions and he saw the joy in her face, he truly felt like the head of a family.

The provider, the protector.

"Saitou-san."

This time it was Fumiko who addressed him, coming up to him with a bright smile, one that he hadn't seen in months. She was beginning to wobble, he noticed, as the weight of the baby in her womb overpowered her frame. An image of Tokio in such a state flashed through his mind, sending another wave of new excitement through his body.

"Fumiko," he replied warmly, nodding to her, "I trust you are adjusting adequately."

She placed her two hands on one of his forearms, partially out of affection, partially for balance.

"I can't thank you enough," she told him, "Takagi-san has been more help than I could have ever imagined and Mitsu brings so much light into this dark house."

"Good," he said stiffly, "In these times, it seems all we can do is help each other."

Fumiko smiled at him and removed her hands from his arm. "I never imagined you to be the type to have such thoughts," she said quietly, "before you came to me with your proposal, I had always thought you to be a sinister man."

He raised an eyebrow. "I do not recall ever being unkind to you, Fumiko."

"Of course not," she said lightly, "but that was because my husband was an honest man who stayed clear of your path."

It was true. Her husband had always known his place in the rankings and had never tried to assume otherwise. Likewise, where many of the men tried to poke fun at him the way he allowed Okita to, Hiromu had kept himself busy with more productive things.

"She's beautiful," Fumiko noted, glancing towards Tokio who had gone off to tend to her father, "you must be proud to have her."

"She's a hot headed lunatic, that's what she is," he muttered in reply.

This only earned him a smile. "I know love when I see it," she said, "and I am very happy for the both of you."

xxxx

**Author's Notes:**I have a feeling Fumiko and Kojuro will be BFFs. I like her. I think she might pop up every now and then.

But I REEEAAALLLLY Like Hiroto & Omiro, so I couldn't _not_ bring them back in.


	27. Intrusion

**Author's Note: **I'm officially past the point that I abandoned the original!

**On a more serious note**, this chapter has potential to **offend**, **disappoint**, and make the general population very **uncomfortable**. Though you may be intrigued, depending on the type of story you like. I tried to tone it down for the site, but eek. We'll see.

I also made Iizuka's character a little bit darker than we tend to see in the series for plot reasons, and because aside from being a general creep and traitor, he's sort of boring, but the potential I found in him drove me over the edge.

As I've said many-a-time, however, everything will work itself out in the end. I promise I promise I promise. I'm just drawn to fictional tragedy and suffering. I can't help it.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs

**Changes in Friendship**

_Chapter Twenty Seven_

"I want to go outside."

Katsura observed Shousha for a moment, taking in her stern frown and crossed arms. It was the first time she had put in any sort of request that didn't involve either her escape or his death. After the episode on the roof, she had calmed considerably, but her words were still cold and biting.

"You may, then," he told he plainly, "the courtyard is quite beautiful and the weather is nice."

"_No_," she said forcefully, "I want to go _out_."

He sighed, smiling gently. "Ah, you are growing bored of these walls."

"Please let me go out," she begged, "I won't run away."

"No you won't," he agreed, knowing full well that she would be too tightly guarded to attempt anything rash.

Shousha scooted forward a bit. "So, can I go?"

"I don't have the time to take you," he said, gathering up his things in preparation to leave. He watched her crestfallen expression and found satisfaction in the fact that she had not expected to be let out on her own.

"Though I suppose," he added, thinking quickly so as to keep her tantrums at bay, "I could arrange for Iizuka to accompany you."

Shousha sent him a pleading look. "_Iizuka_?"

"Or you could stay."

"Fine," she muttered, sighing angrily.

"This will be good," he told her, "I think a day out might give the two of you a chance to reconcile the distaste you clearly hold for one another."

She didn't respond, and taking this as a sign of approval, Katsura sent for Iizuka.

One hour later, Shousha was free. As free as she could have been in her situation, that was, but being outside the walls of the inn was a magnificent feeling in and of itself. She had been blindfolded before leaving and though Katsura apologized for his lack of trust in her, she gnashed her teeth at him.

Iizuka had enjoyed leading her through the city like a slave. She imagined he could only have been made happier if her hands had been bound.

When they reached a street in an unfamiliar place, she was given back her vision and she snatched the ribbon from his hands as he undid it.

"There's no need to be so violent, princess," he clicked condescendingly, "you should be grateful to me."

"I am not your prisoner," she shot back, "you are my escort."

Iizuka rubbed his chin in thought, watching as she lifted her chin and strode past him. He hadn't had much contact with her after she had bitten him, but she had never been far from his sight. Word had spread of a traitor amongst them and as suspicions rose, the cowardice in him began to escalate as well. All he needed was to catch her doing something, anything that might threaten Katsura or his work. Then his position would be secure.

But Shousha didn't do much of anything. She ate, sulked, read, and endured the polite presence of Ikumatsu when the beautiful woman came by to make friends with her.

This annoyed Iizuka. His animosity towards her was much more interesting when she gave him a reason to want to destroy her.

"Well don't just stand there," she snapped, halting and turning, "I don't know where I am. Show me."

"You're very demanding for a woman in your position," he said smoothly as he sidled up next to her.

"And what position would that be?" she asked, not bothering to look at him.

"A dangerous one," he replied, "don't you know that every man in that inn wants you dead?"

Shousha stopped walking and looked up at the man who thought he held power over her. "And you are very arrogant for a man with no position at all."

Angered by her words, Iizuka's gaze turned to ice. "Enlighten me."

"You haven't done anything useful in the entire time that I have been married. When you leave for battle it isn't to fight, but to confirm the death of the Battousai's victims. Katsura never sends for you, nor does he relay any information to you that might be of any value."

Letting out a curt laugh, he gave her a smile and reached down to pat her head. "You have not witnessed because you are not trusted, my dear."

"I pay closer attention than you might think," she replied.

"You should not be so quick to throw around assumptions, _Katsura_-san. Your husband has been gentle with you, but not all men react so kindly to insult."

He rightened himself and began to walk again, but Shousha hung back. Her fingers twitched. She was itching for conflict. She needed _something_ to fill the emptiness inside of her, even if that something was a bloody lip.

"Your sword, Iizuka!" she called out. He turned, giving her a questioning look and she raised her chin and sent him a feline smirk, "can you even lift it?"

It wasn't a second before his hands were on her.

Her back slammed up against the wall separating the street from the yard of the homes that lined it, and she gasped, trying to retain some of the air that left her body upon impact. One of his hands had slapped against the wall, just missing her head, and the other held her jaw fiercely, forcing her to look at him while his grip threatened to break the bone beneath it.

"Your husband may think you're cute, princess," he growled, "but I don't."

Shousha wiggled slightly, keeping her eyes sharp and challenging, but her voice wavered and her feet shifted nervously in the dirt.

"You can't hurt me," she said, though the words came out small and forced.

"Can't I?"

"You're nothing but a coward," she spat at him, ignoring the dull throbbing that was beginning to take over her jaw, "The way you stand here, as if you hold any importance at all. If Katsura were here, you wouldn't be so quick to touch me, would you?"

He released her with a shove and backed away, eyes narrowed. Iizuka never considered himself a violent man. He had little interest in combat, his specialty being information, more specifically, the gathering and transferring of, and though he teased his comrades, very rarely did altercations become physical.

Likewise, while there wasn't much else he enjoyed more than the company of a beautiful woman, he found no pleasure in inflicting pain upon them, unlike some other men he knew. What he _did_ enjoy was when women were rough with _him_. There was a strange exhilaration in female dominance.

But _this_ woman was different. This woman sparked something new inside of him. A desire to destroy, to hurt. She insulted him without care, pretended to have weight to throw around, then shrunk back when she felt threatened. And she called _him_ a coward?

"What is it that you've set out to buy, princess?" he asked, pushing down her insults and taking her by the arm as they continued on.

Shousha eyed him, cringing at the feel of his hands on her clothing, before turning her head away from him. "Something sweet," she replied, "and a new umbrella."

Neither of these purchases was a necessity, but Katsura had given her enough money to re-do her wardrobe if she saw fit. She didn't, as all the clothing she now owned had been sent over from Yamata house. All the items she hadn't taken with her when she had left to live at the dojo.

That was one thing she was glad for. Being able to have familiar clothing was much better than requesting new kimono from her husband. Depending on the bastard for food and shelter was bad enough.

When they arrived at the market, a place she had been to nearly every day before the past month of incarceration, she noticed nothing had changed. She wasn't sure why she had expected it to, but when her life had been flipped over and shaken out, her mind had though the rest of the world would have shifted with it.

She kept to herself as she went about her errands and Iizuka stayed close by, though he had released his hold on her.

New parasol in hand, and delicious sweets in her belly, Shousha was ready to return to the inn across town. She didn't want to go back, but maybe, just maybe, if she behaved herself and kept the outing short, she would be granted another.

Just as she was about to announce her desired departure, her eyes caught sight of a familiar face. Her heart skipped a beat and, biting down on her lip to hide her excitement, she scanned the area for an escape.

As fate would have it, a woman walked by, a gorgeous creature with a seductive smile. Iizuka gave her a once over, whistling, and turned to watch her walk past. Taking the three seconds as a blessing, Shousha slipped into a crowd of people and out of his sight.

Breaking free of the group, she dashed over to the produce stand, and not waiting to catch her breath, let out a soft cry.

"Tokio!"

At the familiar voice, the grey eyed beauty turned, and when her eyes met with those of her friend, she dropped her basket of fruit, and launched herself forward.

"Oh Shousha!" she cried, hugging her around the neck, a bit too fiercely, "I thought I'd never see you again."

"Me either," Shousha said, prying herself away and looking back. She saw Iizuka scanning the streets, "I don't think I have much time."

The merchant eyed the two suspiciously.

"I should offer you my congratulations," Shousha started, keeping the conversation polite and neutral. It was awkward, being so formal with someone she was so close with, but there were some risks she just wasn't ready to take. Putting Tokio in danger was one of those risks.

Tokio smiled back, all the confidence of a married woman radiating from her skin. "To you as well," she replied, though they both knew she didn't mean it.

Lowering her voice, she bent to pick up her fallen goods. "Your husband," she said, "he treats you well?"

Shousha nodded. "He is kind to me."

Tokio let out a breath of air. Okita would be glad to hear that, at least.

"And yours?"

A blush crept up on Tokio's features then and she bit down on her lip. "He loves me."

Shousha didn't see how Saitou Hajime was capable of such an emotion, but he must have been, as she had never seen her friend so blissfully enamored with life.

"So perhaps I will hear of children soon, then?" she teased.

Tokio giggled. "Keep an ear out for the news."

Both girls laughed at this and for a moment, Shousha forgot about the invisible collar that wrapped itself around her neck, and the tags of ownership that hung from it.

"What about you?" Tokio asked, picking up her basket. "Do you and your husband have plans for children?"

Though her tone was jovial and appropriate, her expression was one of desperation and pleading. Shousha knew what she was really asking. She was begging for information to report back to Okita-information that could either destroy him, or give him the slightest sliver of hope.

"No," Shousha breathed softly. "My husband does not look upon me with desire."

_He will not touch me._

The words went unspoken, and while neither of the women made it known, they were both grateful for this. A situation that many women would lament over was cause for celebration for Shousha, and for her lover.

A strong, fierce hand wrapped around Shousha's wrist then, sending her crashing back down into reality.

He had found her.

"We're leaving," Iizuka said plainly. He tugged on her arm, but she found that she couldn't move.

In a sudden moment of overwhelming panic, she took hold of Tokio's hand, and, shaking, gave it a squeeze.

"Will you tell him?" she asked, "will you let him know that I'm alright?"

"Shousha. Let's _go."_

Tokio nodded, fighting the quivering in her bottom lip.

"Please," Shousha begged, "help me."

At those words. Iizuka stopped his pull and came up closely behind her.

"What did you just say?"

Ever bold, and always confident, Tokio straightened, looking the examiner directly into his eyes.

"You have no business in this conversation, sir," she said, raising her chin, "you are not her husband, nor her guardian."

A lazy smile crept up onto his features and he leaned forward, whispering into Shousha's ear, "your friend is very brave, princess."

Heart thudding in her chest, Shousha took a step forward, twisting to look at him. "Leave her out of this, Iizuka. She is no threat to you."

But Tokio was _not_ willing to back down. "Let her be," she ordered, "or you will suffer the consequences."

"My dear delusional lady," he said smoothly, "I am, in fact, this woman's guardian for the time being, and _you_ will keep your mouth out of our affairs."

"I will not!" Tokio shouted, stamping her foot. "Katsura _stole her_ from us. We will take her back!"

Just about to pull Shousha away from the scene, he paused. _Us?_ So this pretty little thing was more than just a casual friend. Shousha had weaseled her way into contact with the Shinsengumi and she was going to pay dearly for it.

"Tokio, it's okay," Shousha whimpered.

"Yes, Tokio," Iizuka said coldly, "Tell your wolfhounds to cease their hunt."

As he dragged Shousha away, Tokio's temper flared. She should have kept her mouth shut. She should have just ran away with Shousha the moment she saw her. But she hadn't, and now she found herself in an unfortunate situation. Did she watch her closest friend be dragged back into the pit of Hell itself, or do something, anything, to free her?

Disregarding all common sense, she chose the latter.

"Let her go!" she screamed, grabbing hold of one of Iizuka's arms and digging her nails into his flesh. "Let her go or my husband will cut you to pieces!"

Tired of the small woman's hinderance of his day, he raised a hand to silence her, but Tokio was much faster. Stepping up to him, she stood on her toes and pulling back her hand, slapped him across the face in the middle of the street. Everyone walking by stopped, craning their necks to look at the scene.

"You will not touch me," she growled.

Too shocked to respond at first, Iizuka's head reeled with embarrassment. There was no way to worm his way out of this.

"If that is how you choose to respond to events out of your control, madam, then your friend will suffer for it." He pulled Shousha up to face him. "She will be adequately punished for _your _actions."

"If you hurt her," Tokio began, voice shaking as her own shock began to wear down on her, "my husband will find you, and he will kill you."

It wasn't true, but it was the best she had. The truth was, Saitou didn't care at all what happened to Shousha, so long as his life remained undisturbed, but he was a feared man nonetheless.

Not bothering to dignify her threat with a response, Iizuka left the market, forcefully dragging his charge behind him.

"I love him!" Shousha cried out, falling in the dirt as she tried to resist the man's hold on her. "Tell Soushi that I love him!"

Accepting defeat, all Tokio could do was nod.

"You little bitch, deceiving me like that," he snapped, pulling her down a side street.

"Iizuka please," Shousha begged, gripping his forearm with her free hand and making her best attempt at freeing herself. His fingers were strong and his grip was deadly. He hadn't bothered to blindfold her again, but it hardly mattered. She wasn't watching the streets pass by or taking note of familiar landmarks; she was trying to stay conscious.

He never responded to her pleading, keeping his face straight ahead at the road, not trusting that either of them wanted him to voice his thoughts.

"It hurts," she whimpered as the pins and needles stabbed at her hand and climbed up her arm. Her left hand was beginning to turn an unsightly shade of purple and there was dark blotches making their way into her vision as her body fought for proper circulation.

"I can't feel my hand," she whispered.

"You are a curse," he bit off as they approached the inn, shoving her up against a fence. "You bring nothing but trouble for me."

She gasped, collapsing to the ground, and timidly running her working fingers over the other hand, as if it would fall off upon contact. There was a dark, ugly ring around her wrist, a reminder of his hold on her.

_I'm not a curse!_ she wanted to scream. But how could she, when the one person in this godforsaken place that might have been on her side, her own husband, had deemed her useless. What else could she be then, but a leech, a hinderance. A curse.

On shaking legs she stood, drawing her hand up into her sleeve, hiding the bruise. Her jaw still throbbed slightly and she prayed his first outburst wouldn't leave any mark.

"I'm going inside," she said softly, unable to look at him. It disgusted her how brave she was unable to be. Katsura had been right. He had told her that the Shinsengumi had spoiled her. Of course they had.

Now she was on her own, with no one to depend on. The only advantage she had was herself, but she was too fragile, to weak, and too cowardly to make a difference. Sooner or later, she was going to have to accept her marriage.

Iizuka followed her, an air of pleasantry on his face, as if they had just strolled in from a turn in the garden. Shousha's misery was expected.

"Hey! Hey!"

A pubescent voice rang through the air and when Shousha looked up, a teenage boy was making his way through the hall, waving a piece of parchment.

"Shou-chan!" he cried, causing her to cringe. Who was he, and why was he addressing her in such a fashion?

When Omiro stood before her, his smile was wide and he bent over slightly to catch his breath.

"I've been looking for you everywhere," he said, holding up the paper. "This is for you. It's from-"

Before Shousha had the opportunity to reach for it, Iizuka stepped forward, snatching the missive. Omiro's face fell.

"-Okita-san," he finished.

Shousha's eyes lit up. Soushi had written her a letter. He had gone through the trouble of sending her a letter. _Here._ Her heart fluttered. She could have kissed this boy before her.

"Give it to me, Iizuka," she ordered, holding out her right hand, "it's mine."

Iizuka clicked his tongue. "It's actually addressed to Katsura-san, my dear. Katsura _Kogoro._"

Omiro looked up at him desperately. "But it's for her."

With a smile, the examiner tapped both of their heads once with the parchment and gave them a weasel-like smile. "I'll be sure Katsura-san gets this. Don't fret."

As the two watched him walk away. Shousha could feel the pressure of her heart caving in on itself. Once that piece of paper was in her husband's possession, she would never see it. As her chest heaved, her anger rose. Iizuka was so smug, so snake-like, she couldn't take it anymore. She wanted to kill him.

She started towards him, but Omiro saw the fury in her eyes, he pulled on her sleeve. "Shou-chan, don't!" he cried out, "Go to Katsura-san. He'll give it to you."

"Who _are_ you?" she growled, whipping around and slapping his hand off her clothing.

"O-oh! My name is Omiro," he replied cheerfully, "I met you whe-"

But she was already off. Iizuka had begun his ascent up the stairs, whistling to himself and waving her letter lightly, taunting her. Desperate for contact with her home, she wasn't going to let him reach the top unharmed.

"Shou-chan _don't_!"

Too late.

Skipping the first three steps, Shousha leapt forward, landing on the fourth with little balance to spare. With an enraged scream, she reached for the back of Iizuka's clothing and, grabbing a fistful of his kimono, allowed herself to fall backwards, dragging him with her, crashing down the stairs.

Omiro could only stare at the scene before him.

"Give me my letter!" she screamed, wiggling out from underneath Iizuka's body.

He was quick, quicker than she thought he would be, and within a second, he tucked the letter away and with a grip even more fiercely than before, took hold of her wrist. Pain shot up her arm as the fresh wound was irritated.

"There's a reason Katsura-san keeps this one locked up," he told Omiro as he pulled Shousha up the stairs.

Throwing her into her room, he snapped the shoji shut behind him.

"That is the third time today you have humiliated me," he told her lowly.

Nursing her wrist, she glanced his way. "You humiliate yourself you slimy piece of-"

Silenced by the back of his hand, Shousha bit down on her lip to force the tears back into her eyes. She had to stand up. She had to stand up for herself. It was easy to defy Katsura because she knew now that he had no desire to hurt her. Her grew impatient and short with her, but gave her no indication that he would dominate her with his hands.

Iizuka was different. She had known it from the first altercation, the look in his eyes, it was the same look that Shizawa had given her the night at the brothel. He _hated _her. He wanted to inflict pain on her, to make her suffer.

Using a bookshelf for support, Shousha raised herself from the floor and swallowed hard. He was intimidating her because Katsura wasn't home. He would never act this way if he wasn't absolutely certain he would get away with it.

"What do you want?" she asked, never taking her eyes from him as she began to edge her way around the room, putting as much distance between them as possible.

"I already told you," he replied, shrugging, "you are to be adequately punished."

"And how might you go about doing that?" she asked, folding her hands around a fan. Maybe she could stab him, "If you leave any more marks on me, my husband will ask questions. You won't get away with it."

His low chuckling shook her, sending a hairline crack up the feeble bravado she had conjured up.

"Don't worry, princess," he said, sending her a terrifying smirk before running his tongue over his teeth, "I doubt hubby will notice the difference."

It was then that Shousha's blood ran cold. "H-he'll kn-know," she stammered, "h-h-he'll know b-because he knows I'm an-I'm an innocent."

"So he hasn't touched you yet."

Shousha shook her head, trembling, "No."

Things were playing out in his favor. "Well then," he said with another smile, "it will be your word against the truth. I don't think anyone really believes that you never fucked your wolf prince."

_But I didn't_.

He was right. It was her word against what everyone else thought to be true. Her word against condemning proof if Iizuka made good on his threat. What good was her word anyway?

She wasn't about to wait and find out. He wouldn't have her. She wouldn't let him.

Without a word, she spun, flinging open the window. She had made it to the roof before, and she would do it again. She didn't believe in self sacrifice, but tonight, she would run until she died.

Hastily, she lifted herself onto the ledge, preparing to make the leap. Iizuka had predicted this and would gladly use it to his advantage. In three short strides he crossed the room, and with one hand on the back of her neck, came up to whisper in her ear.

"They'll think I saved your life."

As his other hand snaked around her waist, she let out a fierce cry and drove her elbow back into the side of his face. Balance thrown off, she tumbled back into the room and when he stood by the window, blocking that exit, she ran for the door.

Again he was faster, his eyes sparkling with delight at this cat and mouse charade. Fan still in her hand, Shousha charged forward, adreniline rushing, fully ready to spill his blood. It wasn't a sharp object, but if she reached his eye, she'd be able to do some significant damage.

Perfect. He smiled, catching both of her hands and spinning her around so they both faced the window. With a simple squeeze, the fan slipped from her palm.

"Are we going to behave?" he asked, pressing himself up against her backside.

"No!" she screamed, thrashing. Her arms were crossed in front of her, pinned tightly against her stomach, leaving only her legs free. She kicked and flailed, her foot connecting with Katsura's favourite vase and sending it shattering into countless pieces across the tatami.

Using one hand to cover her mouth, the other searched for the open folds of her kimono. With her hands now free, she slapped at him, clawed her nails across his skin, kicked, writhed, and wiggled, but he didn't stop. The hand covering her mouth came up to block her nose as well, reminding her who was in control.

"I don't want to kill you," he said simply, "so be a good girl."

Chest heaving and desperate for air, Shousha whimpered desperately. When he tucked his hand in between her crossed legs, she froze. His hands on her bare skin was the most repulsive thing she had ever experienced. Nausea rose up in her throat and he removed his hand from her face, giving her the opportunity to breathe.

To beg.

"Please," she pleaded, fighting back the urge to vomit as he ran his filthy hand over her most womanly parts, "please stop."

"We are more alike than you think, you and I," he told her, threatening her entrance with his fingers.

_How?_ She didn't have to voice it. He knew the question hung in the air and he was more than happy to answer. His secret would be safe with her. After tonight, he would _own_ her.

Covering her mouth again, he smirked against her skin, and stabbed two fingers up inside of her. She screamed against his hand, thrashing and bucking against him in attempt to throw him off, but to no avail.

"Because you see, princess," he whispered, feeling the blood of her stolen maidenhood drip down his hand, "you and I both hate your husband."

xxxx

Ikumatsu entered the inn with a soft smile on her face, greeting all those who came out to welcome her. Himura Kenshin was among these beings and though he normally would have ignored a visitor or given them a short hello, this woman was always exceptionally kind to him and so he stopped in his journey to the courtyard when she addressed him.

"Good afternoon Kenshin," she said gently. She liked his name and used it in his presence. She knew that he was viewed as a monster by some, and a tool by others. If nothing else, she could give him the humanity of a first name.

"Ikumatsu-dono," he replied quietly.

A crash was heard upstairs, following Shousha's voice, yelling.

Ikumatsu chuckled. "She is angry with him today."

Himura did not laugh with her, but thought for a brief moment before replying, "Katsura-san is not at home."

Both looked up towards the ceiling and for the first time since he had known her, Ikumatsu's face betrayed her emotions. Etched with worry, she glanced at him.

"Come with me."

He did as he was told, following her graceful form up the stairs, stopping at the room Katsura shared with his wife. Steeling her jaw and clearing her features of any feeling, Ikumatsu slid open the shouji.

The scene before them would not be one that she would be able to forget, and a memory Himura would suppress for as long as he could.

Blood.

He could smell it. It was thick and metallic and the stench, no matter how small its source, hung in the air and assaulted his nostrils. He was too familiar with the scent for it to ever go unnoticed.

Back to his intruders, Iizuka slipped his fingers out of Shousha's body, hiding them in his sleeve and turning, soft smile on his face. Shousha collapsed to the floor, heaving, face red, eyes swollen from her tears.

"Katsura-san attempted to take her own life today," he explained simply, gesturing to the open window, "I managed to stop her."

"Yes," Ikumatsu said gracefully with a grateful smile, "it is a good thing you have been keeping an eye on her."

Though her lips showed gratitude and pleasantness, her eyes were cold and knowing. Iizuka bent down to Shousha, brushing back some of her hair in an illusion of affection and caretaking.

"Speak a word of this to anyone," he growled to her, "and I will finish what I started."

He left without a word, not wanting to give any reason for the Battousai to come after him. Ikumatsu would keep silent at Shousha's request, but he held no power over Himura. He had not factored that into his plans.

For several moments after Iizuka's departure, no one spoke. Shousha stared ahead, breathing heavily and neither Ikumatsu nor Himura could find it in themselves to move.

"He is going to be so angry," Shousha whispered after a while, reaching forward and picking up one of the vase shards in her shaking fingers, "I broke the vase."

Then, the dam broke.

"I broke the vase!" she wailed, scurrying across the floor on her knees, gathering all the pieces into a pile.

Ikumatsu moved quickly, using her gentle hands to stop the girl's frantic cleaning up. "Don't mind the vase," she said gently, "I will take the blame."

Shousha sat there, shaking her head furiously, exploding into spurts of sobs and hysterical tears of varying degrees.

"I broke it!" she cried, choking, "it was h-his fa-fa-fav-favourite!"

Patiently, the geisha sat with Shousha, trying to calm her. The shock of Iizuka's intrusion was fading, replaced by her anxiety over the broken vase. A piece of pottery was hardly something to cry about, but Ikumatsu understood.

Himura was still rooted where he stood.

_I like her because she's strong._

That was what Katsura had told him. He found his wife entertaining because of her strength and determination, her fierce will to return to the home she loved.

_She's strong._

No. No, she wasn't. Staring down at the mess of a female on the floor before him, Himura found himself angry. He knew he shouldn't have. This was none of his business. Still, he had come here to fight for a change. He had come here to fight for the weak, for those that couldn't defend themselves.

That was what Katsura had told him. That was what Katsura _believed in._

Why then was that man's wife laying on the floor, suffering at the hands of a man who thought to have some power over her? She was just a woman, alone, scared, and weak. Where had _Katsura_ been? Why hadn't he been there?

As Ikumatsu dismissed him, Himura exited to the hallway and, sliding the door closed silently, felt the taunting seed of doubt plant itself in his soul.

xxxx

**Author's Note: **Aside from her tuberculosis, that's the end of the physical pain inflicted upon Shousha. The worst is over. I mean, really, anything after this would probably kill her. I don't usually like to reveal stuff like this, but I'm pretty sure right now you've all got your hands on the hilts of your daisho ready to give my ass a taste of Aku Soku Zan.

Also, Kenshin again! He'll be in and out pretty regularly I think. I really like young battousai.

For any of you wondering when the crap this is going to end, get comfortable. This is the most extensive and intricate of my fics. I'm projecting _at least_ another ten chapters. At least. Plus side-fics. There's a lot going on here.

And for those of you who may not have happened upon it, I have a S/T centered fic up! O/S make little cameos, but the mini parallel to S/T there is actually Harada/Masa. Check it out if you like sexy. It's definitely going to revolve around sexy for the most part. =P

I said it would only be 2-3 chapters, but then a full blown fic exploded in my mind, so it will probably be longer. I already have a side fic in mind too. I need to stop this madness haha

Sorry for the ramblings. This was the chapter of author's notes. I'm sorry.


	28. Punishment

**Author's Note: **I've grown really attached to Omiro. He and his lady will be scattered around various fics. He's so precious haha

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs

**Changes in Friendship**

_Chapter Twenty Eight_

It was days before Shousha spoke again.

Iizuka had not come to finish what he had started, nor did he pay her any sort of visit that might imply that he planned to make good on his threat. This was of course, because Katsura had been present the entire time. Still, each time the door slid open, or footsteps padded by, Shousha buried herself under her blanket, biting the inside of her cheek in attempt to calm the trembling of her body.

Ikumatsu had, as she said she would, taken the blame for the broken vase. To the surprise of no one, Katsura had smiled at her gently and told her it could be replaced. This wasn't true, as it had been a one of a kind item, but he found it difficult to be upset with her over anything.

In addition to clearing up the pottery issue, the geisha had discreetly informed him that his wife was in a significant amount of pain stemming from a certain, rather delicate, feminine issue. and she wouldn't be wanting to be close to him at this time. He had accepted her warning with thanks, and ignored Shousha for five days. She didn't like to be near him when she wasn't in pain. He imagined that her suffering would lead to anger and as his headaches were just beginning to finally dull, he didn't want to aggravate them.

On the sixth night, however, as he slid into bed beside her, he propped himself up on his elbow and from their near two foot distance, watched her. She hadn't been out of bed for nearly a week except to bathe, and from what he remembered, even that had been with assistance. What he had managed to see of her face was ashen and unlike her, even at her worst moments. He knew, even if he would never understand, the pain of a woman's monthly cycle, but _this_ was different.

As she shuddered in the darkness, Katsura reached forward and laid his hand on her shoulder. She sucked in a breath, scooting away from him. There were no bitter remarks, no quick flailing of her tiny fists.

"Are you still in pain?"

She didn't answer him, but kept her back turned, squeezing her eyes shut and wishing he would go to sleep. He had left her alone thusfar; why begin curiosities now? Because he wasn't daft. Surely he had calculated how much time he had before she was, for lack of better word, approachable again.

"I pray you are well tomorrow," he said earnestly, laying down and turning away from her.

This attitude of hers bothered him. As irritating as she was, he much preferred her company when she was trying to cause him harm or run away. Her liveliness and determination both impressed and entertained him. It was cruel to find amusement in her grief, but he couldn't help it. She was like fireworks.

Katsura greatly enjoyed fireworks.

As the next morning crept into afternoon, Shousha found herself alone. She pushed back her blankets, staring straight ahead at the vanity Katsura had bought for her.

Her reflection embarrassed her.

She looked like a madwoman. Her hair was unkempt, knotted in more places than she cared to count, stringy, and oily from her constant state of lethargy. She had refused food over the past week and her eyes were beginning to appear too big for their sockets. Her cheeks were sunken in slightly and her complexion was taking on a sickly greyish hue.

Frustrated, she reached for a comb, running it furiously through her hair, desperate to make it look decent. It took longer than it should have; she spent the better half of her time combing out knots and some, too mangled to save, were ripped right from her scalp, collecting in a deranged pile of what looked like nest material.

When finally her hair reached a manageable state, she pulled it back, braiding it over her shoulder and with a short exhale, adjusted her bangs, and sat before herself again.

"Who are you?" she whispered to the looking glass, wanting to weep for the deteriorating female staring back at her.

_You are weak,_ it hissed back, _weak and useless. _

"I'm not weak," she told herself, but with her shaking voice, the reflection didn't even attempt to believe her. "I'm _not_ weak."

_Your pride makes you weak._

The thought that slithered into her head was an accurate one, something she had tried to suppress from the very first day. All the trouble she had gotten into since marrying Katsura stemmed from one source: _her pride._

Pride had made her attack Iizuka, and to provoke him. Pride had kept her on the roof in the pouring rain, freezing and stupid. It was pride too, that kept her holed up in this room. Fear played a part of this; she was willing to admit that she was terrified of what the examiner might do should he have the chance to be alone with her again. Pride, however, kept her from seeking her husband's protection.

It was pride that would get her killed.

"I have to see Kogoro," she whispered, tasting his name on her tongue. She didn't like it; it was bitter and unfamiliar, but also necessary. He was powerful, far more powerful than anyone else here, save Himura, but he was too disinterested in her, and too loyal to Katsura, to side with Iizuka.

She could ask for his help, she could do it, and still keep some of her pride in tact.

Shedding her yukata for the first time in a week, Shousha pulled a glittering red and gold kimono from the wardrobe and dressed herself, taking extra time to be sure she looked perfect. There was little she could do about her complexion, but he was accustomed to her pallor and if anything, it would only add to her case. Saying a quick prayer for courage, she took a deep breath, and opened the door.

Her eyes met those of Omiro, widened with surprise, his mouth hanging open slightly and his left hand raised in a fist, preparing to knock. In his right hand, he held a small arrangement of wildflowers.

"I-I'm sorry!" he sputtered, holding the flowers out to her, "I heard you had taken ill and wanted to give a token of sympathy."

Shousha looked at the blossoms in his hand, then back up to his face, pleading with her to accept his gift.

"What do you want?" she asked, her tone suspicious and slightly sour. "I'm married."

Omiro let out a nervous chuckle as his face reddened. "It's not that," he admitted, "but you see.. I mean we're both... can we be friends?"

Pushing past him, she let out a huff. "You're just a kid. Leave me alone."

He didn't pry any farther, but when she disappeared down the stairs, he stole into her room and laid the flowers across her vanity.

The patriots that Shousha passed on her way to the meeting room did little to hide their surprise of seeing her. Her silence, along with Katsura's lack of mentioning her, had left some of them to believe she _had _escaped, or perhaps died. These were both ridiculous assumptions of course, but there were those who had been hopeful.

Just as she rounded a corner, she felt a familiar presence. She had no training in martial arts and could not usually detect a person's energy, but there was one soul that her senses were on a constant alert to, searching for it. Two eyes that burned through her body, and one terrifying lazy smirk that consumed her.

"Where are you headed, princess?"

His voice wasn't threatening, not to the untrained ear, but Shousha knew what he meant. He was testing her, daring her to admit she was seeking out her husband's protection.

In an attempt to block out the choking fear rising up in her chest, she pictured Okita's face. He was smiling at her, holding out his hand. All she had to do was be strong and survive this nightmare. Then she'd be able to hold that hand again and he would take her anywhere they wanted to go.

She only had to survive.

"My business is my own, Iizuka," she replied stiffly, raising her chin and not looking at him.

He let out a humorless laugh. "You won't get far. He's in a meeting."

"He'll admit me," she said, "I am his wife."

Iizuka reached for her arm, but she pulled away quickly, her veil of calm sliding from her face. He took pleasure in this.

"How convenient for you," he said haughtily, "that you have the luxury of deciding when a man is and isn't your husband. You're more like your parents than you think."

Not responding, she left him. He didn't call after her, but there was no mistaking his footsteps several paces behind hers.

A man sat in front of the door to the meeting room and Shousha graced him with a smile. Being rude had never gotten her very far. The man sputtered a bit, blinking a few times, trying to process the expression.

"K-K-Katsura-san!" he cried.

"I need to speak with Katsura-san," she said gently, nibbling on her lip to keep herself from gagging on her own words or slapping him for referring to her by her married name.

Standing, the man shook his head. "I'm so sorry, but he's in a meeting right now. He can't be disturbed."

"He will see me," she told him, "I am his wife."

"I'll take care of this," Iizuka said slyly, coming up behind her and giving his comrade a grin. The guard sighed with relief, happy that someone else besides their leader was willing to deal with her.

"No!" Shousha screamed, pounding on the young samurai's chest. "Please let me in! I need to speak with him!"

When Iizuka's fingers wrapped around her upper arm and she felt the force of him pulling her away, her breath hitched. She had been too weak to fight him off once. She could not, _would_ not let him abuse her again.

"PLEASE!"

"There's nothing I can do, ma'am, I'll be sure to let him know you were asking for him."

"Be a good girl, princess, and come with me."

But Shousha did not want to be a good girl. With all the strength she had, she ripped her arm out of Iizuka's grasp and gripped the front of the guard's clothing. Her screaming had attracted an audience and several young men were gathered in the hall, craning their necks to see what all the fuss was about.

"Help me," she whispered.

"My apologies," Iizuka told him, this time placing two forceful hands on her arms and tugging her backwards, "she is not well today."

"He is my husband!" she screeched, digging the balls of her feet into the wood of the floor to resist Iizuka's hold, "He will see me! He will see me! Please! _Please!_"

The young guard opened his mouth to apologize again, but the door slid open. Iizuka released Shousha immediately, as if her clothing were poison. Katsura stepped out into the hall, taking note of the onlookers that scattered, then to the three people before him.

"What's all this?" he asked, his mild tone laced with placid curiosity.

Shousha stared up at him, eyes wide, trembling where she stood. When his gaze dropped to her, she did the unthinkable.

In three short steps she reached him, and with a muffled cry, buried herself against his body, fists clenching his kimono. It was strange how comforting he was. His body was hard and muscled from his training, but warm and inviting all the same. She hated herself for this, sobbing into his chest, and praying for him to wrap his arms around her and hide her from the world.

Iizuka cleared his throat. "If you will see her, my presence is not necessary." With a low bow, he turned and left, leaving behind no suspicion.

The guard looked over at Katsura, taking in his stunned expression as he stood there, arms lifted in surprised, looking down at Shousha's head. Suddenly unsure of himself, he lowered one of his hands stiffly and mechanically, patting the top of her hair.

"I need to speak with you," she whispered shakily, lifting her face to his.

"Now?" It was an awkward angle to speak at, his chin pressed up against his neck as he stared down at the woman so close to him. "can it wait?"

Shousha stepped back, wiping her eyes. "I can wait," she told him, "but only if the waiting can be done in your presence."

Her request vexed him. Was this the same woman he had married? The pseudo Miburo who wanted nothing to do with him? The terrifyingly emotional lover of the Shinsengumi's first captain? She had dedicated an entire month to hating him. Why then was she here now, holding herself against him, desperate for his attention?

With a hand on her lower back, he steered her into the room where several of his comrades sat, either curious or suspicious. He had been vague about his marriage and while some of them were optimistic that she wasn't such a bad creature, others held a venomous distaste for her, their hatred for her parents spilling over onto her.

Katsura seated Shousha in the far corner and with an encouraging look, handed her a shamisen.

"Do you play?"

Being their entertainment in exchange for protection from molestation was more than fair and when she nodded and accepted the instrument, she felt no resentment towards him at all.

The meeting didn't last much longer and when the last man had taken his leave, Shousha put aside the shamisen and folded her hands in her lap, waiting for permission to speak.

Katsura did not waste any time. It wasn't in him to do so. Motioning for his wife to come to the center of the room, he sat before her as she tucked her legs under her knees and fidgeted with her hands.

"Now," he said, giving her an appraising once-over, "what matter is so pressing?"

He wasn't being condescending with her and she was thankful for that. "I have a request," she replied quietly.

He nodded for her to issue it.

"Please," she begged, "do not allow Iizuka to be alone with me."

Rubbing his forehead, Katsura sighed. So that's what this was about.

"Shousha," he started, "I understand that the two of you find yourself at odds with the other, but-"

"It's not that!" she protested, but he held a hand up to silence her.

"You are a grown woman, Shousha. You are impulsive and irrational, but please. I am too busy to sort out the skirmishes that you get yourself into. Learn to control your temper and you will find that he isn't so difficult to get along with."

Gritting her teeth, Shousha began to shake. "That's what you think this is?" she asked, staring challengingly into his eyes, "you think I'm tattling on him? Do you take me for a _child_?"

"I would not put it past you to manipulate others in order for you to make your life more comfortable. You are spoiled and selfish."

Hurt, she shook away the tears from her eyes and ripped back the sleeve of her kimono, shoving her bruised arm into his vision.

"Does _this_ look spoiled? Is _this _selfish?"

At once, Katsura's judgement collapsed. Reaching out, he took hold of her arm tenderly, disbelieving eyes roaming over the four or so inches of broken blood vessels and splattered complexion. It wasn't purple anymore; not completely. The black and blue hues were fading into nauseating greens, yellows, and browns, but scattered across her flesh were dark burgundy splotches where the blood had clotted under her skin.

"He did this?" Katsura's voice was a mere whisper as he continued to examine her wound. It was unsightly, and caused his stomach to churn uncomfortably.

"He frightens me," she breathed, swallowing hard. "My words are often unkind, so perhaps I deserved it but-"

"No."

Shousha sat back, surprised at his harsh tone.

"No," Katsura repeated, "I have heard the words you say. They are petty and childish. A grown man should know this. The action taken to punish you is unacceptable and I will rectify this immediately."

With a shaky breath, she nodded, placing her hands on the tatami before her and bowing low in thanks. It was humiliating, humbling herself before this man, but when she raised her head to him, she met not the satisfied glint of a man who had achieved victory, but the apologetic stare of a man who regretted a situation he had not been able to control.

With a soft, yet commanding hand, he lifted her chin, examining the barely visible bruise on her jaw.

"And this as well?"

She nodded again.

"When did this happen?" he asked, removing his hand from her face.

"At the marketplace," she responded quietly.

"Ah, so this has been the reason for your seclusion."

"I had seen a friend of mine," she explained, inhaling deeply. "she was my lady in waiting when I lived at Yamata house. She married two weeks after-" she paused digesting the thought, "two weeks after we were wed. I wanted to offer her my congratulations."

Katsura blinked slowly. "This friend of yours, would you like for me to arrange for her to attend you once again?"

Shousha smiled bitterly, "Of course, but we both know you would not put yourself in such a dangerous position."

He raised a brow in question and she smoothed out the fabric that covered her lap.

"She has married the Shinsengumi's third captain," she said, smiling softly. She would even like to see _his_ face again. She'd apologize for being such a burden. He wouldn't accept it of course, but at this point, she would take what she could get.

Katsura nodded. "I see. That is rather unfortunate."

"Not for them." Shousha told him, "they were very lucky. They made a love match."

"That is lucky," he agreed.

They sat in silence for some time, neither of them knowing how to continue the conversation. It was the first truly civil moment they had ever shared and unused to being on level ground, they were both at a loss for words.

It was Shousha who broke the silence.

"Do you have my letter?" She rather doubted he would let her read it, but anything was worth a try.

"Letter?" he questioned. "I have received no correspondence in regards to you."

Shousha turned to glance at the courtyard through the open shouji. "Oh. Nevermind then."

Katsura stood. "I'll be leaving now. I will see that your request is fulfilled. Would you like me to escort you upstairs?"

"No," she replied calmly, watching two birds as they flitted about in a cheerful dance of flirtation, "I will remain here for a while."

"As you wish," he said, sliding open the door and slipping out.

The hallway was unusually deserted, but before long, he came across Himura Kenshin who greeted him respectfully, as he always did.

"Himura. Please have Iizuka meet me in the back room."

Without expression, he nodded, turning to retrieve the examiner.

"Oh and Himura-"

Himura turned. "Katsura-san?"

Katsura smiled tenderly. "My wife is in the large living area. Once you have fetched Iizuka, please watch over her. Discreetly, of course."

With another nod, he acknowledged the order and Katsura headed to the back of the inn. With each step he took, he inhaled deeply. He hadn't been a big fan of Shousha when she had first come to him, but as every day past, he grew more fond of her. He would never love her, but he dreamed of a civil union. After her stunt during the rain, contentment seemed to grow closer after each passing hour.

Because of his newfound attitude towards her, he was angry that someone, that a _trusted man_ would have the audacity to cause her such harm. No, it wasn't that. Who was he fooling? This wasn't about her. This was about him. One of his men had overstepped his boundaries and blatantly disrespected him.

When the door slid open and Iizuka stepped into the room, Katsura's back was turned. He didn't want to look at him. He didn't trust himself to look at him.

"Katsura-san, this came in for you the other day."

Forced to turn, he met the carefree smile of the examiner who was holding out a letter.

"It's for Shousha," he said shrugging, "and I took the liberty of- Katsura-san?"

Iizuka looked at his leader curiously. He was staring at the missive, but making no attempt to reach for it. His eyes were far away, remembering Shousha's words.

_Do you have my letter?_

How long had Iizuka had it? And why hadn't he given it to him sooner?

Shaking himself from his thoughts, Katsura pulled the parchment from the other's fingers.

"Do not take liberties with my wife's things," he said coldly.

Iizuka cleared his throat and both men sat.

Katsura read the note, unsurprised by its contents, and tucked it away without a word about it.

"From what I hear, Iizuka, you have been taking liberties with more than her letters."

The way his eyes widened in surprise did not go unnoticed by Katsura, nor did the change in his energy, now heightened, elevated, and slightly panicked.

He had underestimated her, it seemed. The little bitch had come crawling out of her hole and confided in her husband after all. He had thought he could frighten her into silence. She was small, helpless, and determined to resist all of life's changes. Surely her hatred of Katsura would have kept her mouth shut. As it seemed, however, she was not stupid. She had considered her options, and decided that her husband's brute strength and status would outweigh any of his sneak attacks.

He would have to talk his way out of this.

"Katsura-san," he began, laughing, "you can't believe a word the chit says. We all know where she comes from."

But Katsura was not laughing. His mouth remained in a straight line, neither smiling nor unsmiling, and his eyes were completely neutral, encouraging Iizuka to state his case, but knowing exactly where he would slip up.

"Besides," he continued, waving, "she'll do most anything to get a rise out of us."

"And how is it that she managed to get a rise out of you?"

Iizuka's grin faltered. "like I said, you can't trust her-"

His words were cut short as with one swift, emotionless stroke, Katsura brought the sheath of his katana across the examiner's face. It wouldn't leave much more than a bruise, a twin to the one on Shousha's jaw.

"I saw the marks you left on her body," he said lowly, watching as Iizuka clutched his own chin, "and I would like to know what drove you to make them. She is a _married woman_. To disrespect her is to disrespect me. Surely you considered this."

Despite the punishment he was in the midst of receiving, Iizuka felt a surge of triumph. He had been very careful not to leave any sign of his intrusion, save the loss of virginal evidence. Shousha had not breathed a word of what he had done to her.

"My apologizes, Katsura-san," he said with a practiced sincerity, "she sought out another one of the Shinsengumi's bitches."

"She was speaking with a friend," Katsura corrected, his tone neutral once again. His unpredictability was enough to drive a man mad. "She was causing no harm."

"Is that what she told you?" Iizuka sneered in reply, "and you believed her?"

This earned him another strike with the sheathed sword. Eating would prove to be difficult for the next few days.

Calmly returning the weapon to his side, Katsura addressed the man before him bitterly.

"If you ever so much as _look_ at her again, I will have your head."

"I understand," Iizuka replied, bowing in penance, "my actions were wrong and I do not deserve your mercy."

"No, you don't," Katsura murmured in agreement, taking Iizkua's hand in his own. Iizuka looked up curiously, and with his eyes closed as if in meditation, Katsura's fist closed and he tilted their hands back slightly. At first, it appeared to be nothing, but when his eyes opened and his gaze bore into Iizuka's threateningly, his grip tightened.

_Crack!_

The bones in Iizuka's fingers shattered in Katsura's fist and his knuckled popped in protest. Letting out a sharp cry, the examiner tried to pull free, but his leader's hold was far too strong. Pain shot through his body and when Katsura released him he stared at his left hand, mangled to an unrecognizable state.

"See a doctor," Katsura told him simply, "it will heal."

Trembling, Iizuka cradled his hand.

Satisfied with the punishment, Katsura gripped his sword, standing.

"You are growing soft," Iizuka hissed, watching as blood dripped from his broken fingers and onto the tatami, "for _her._"

"Be thankful that you are of use to me," he replied, back to the examiner, and one hand on the doorframe, "next time I will not be so merciful."

The sun was setting now and with a heavy sigh, Katsura headed upstairs. The day had not gone as he had planned and he was looking forward to dinner. Ikumatsu would be coming by tonight. She always managed to lift his spirits.

Sliding open the door to his room, he saw Shousha sitting in the corner, reading a book. Her hair was dripping slightly, still wet from the bath she had taken, and she was already dressed for bed. When she looked up at him, there was no hateful glare, or empty stare. Instead, the corner of her mouth turned up a fraction of an inch.

"Good evening," she said quietly.

He sighed again, doing his best to return the gesture, but she caught the irritation in his eyes and she put down her book, hugging her knees to her chest.

"I'm sorry."

He looked over to her. "Whatever for?"

She bit her lip. "I didn't realize how badly my request would upset your mood. I didn't intend to make you angry, I just... I was frightened."

Softening his features, Katsura managed to give her a smile. "I am glad you told me," he replied, "there is no need for you to suffer in silence."

She looked downcast for a moment and he added, "the disappointment I feel will fade."

She picked up her book and again they were caught in silence. The sun cast a salmon glow over the entire room, a welcoming vision of spring at its peak. Summer would be upon them soon and perhaps they would take a trip to his hometown of Hagi. It was a beautiful city. She might enjoy it.

Clearing his throat, he stood before her awkwardly. "Shousha."

She looked up from her book and he knelt before her, keeping enough distance between them for her not to feel threatened.

"I want to be a good husband to you," he told her, "We both love another, but I don't see why we can not still keep a happy union. I do not want you to be unhappy. I do not want to see your tears any longer. I want you to accept me for who I am, and in turn I will give you whatever it is that you please."

Color rose up in her cheeks then, not from embarrassment or flirtation, but appreciation.

"I do not want to fight with you anymore," he said, "I do not have the time to argue, or calm you down. And you..." he paused, reaching into his kimono and presenting her with her letter, "...do not have the time either."

Eyes wide, Shousha looked up at him, silently seeking his permission. When he nudged it forward, she took it tenderly and opening it, found herself met with Okita's perfect calligraphy.

_My dearest Shou-chan,_

_ I pray this letter finds you well and that you do not hold me in ill regard. No, that thought is selfish. The only thing I can hope for is your happiness. If you would, for my sake, find one reason each day to smile, I know I will be able to find peace in our distance. Do not weep for me, but celebrate your new journey. _

_ When you feel homesick, remember the sunset. You will find me there. _

_ I love you._

With trembling hands, Shousha folded the letter and tucked it away beneath the scarf he had wrapped her in the night of her wedding. She wouldn't be able to respond. Katsura wouldn't allow it, but she understood why. This one letter would be hers to treasure forever.

"What can I do for you?" Katsura's voice was as gentle as ever. "How can I bring you happiness?"

With a glance towards the setting sun, Shousha stood. She hurried past him, but returned in a moment, holding out her hairbrush. When he took it with a curious look, she knelt with her back to him and her eyes set straight ahead at the sky.

"Brush my hair," she commanded, "you must do this every night at sunset."

"I can do that," he whispered.

Taking a small and calming breath, she focused on the image framed by their open window.

Gathering her inky locks into one of his large hands, Katsura put the brush to her head, dragging it down slowly to the ends. Still damp, it smelled of strawberries and he smiled.

"It's strange," she said after a while, "us sitting here like this."

"Why's that?" he mused, keeping with the slow, almost melodic rhythm he had created with the brush.

"Two enemies sitting so peacefully together as husband and wife."

"We aren't enemies, Shousha," he said with a small chuckle, "we are simply two human beings who do not understand each other. It's only natural that because of that misunderstanding that we would be at odds."

She let out a short breath of air as his fingers brushed her neck. "and what is it that I don't understand about you?"

"What do you understand about me?" he countered gently.

She thought for a moment before admitting defeat. "I thought you would be more ruthless. Cruel and uncaring. I don't know why you want to care for me."

He paused. "That answer is simple."

She turned to him, brown eyes wide and curious and he returned her gaze with a smile, using his knuckles to brush aside the bangs that covered half of her face.

"I never intended for you to feel pain."

When her brows furrowed in question, he lowered his eyes and encouraged her to turn back around in order for him to continuing to tend to her.

"Will it cause you pain to hear the truth?" he asked. He had avoided explaining any of his actions to her because she was violent and biased. She wouldn't be able to see how desperate he had been, what sort of good his intentions had been, in their own distorted ways.

Now however, she had reached her limit. She had broken, and all of the shards of her were sitting in the palms of his hands, waiting for him to piece her back together. It wouldn't be easy, but he would try.

"No," she replied firmly, "I want to know. I've always wanted to know."

"The decision I made to end your life was not an easy one," he began, "and it is a choice that I regret."

She was biting her lip. He could see her struggling to keep her composure.

"I did not want to marry you, that much remains true. I had found a love of my own, but mainly I wanted to avoid this."

"This?" she asked, "what is _this_?"

Katsura smoothed out her hair. "This," he repeated, "our makeshift marriage. I know you, Shousha. I knew your position in the Shinsengumi as well as your place in Okita's heart. Likewise, I knew exactly how important they were to you. Additionally, we both know that you are reckless, spoiled, and irrational. I _knew _that forcing you into marriage would bring chaos to me, and nothing but sorrow for you."

"So you contracted to have me killed."

"I am not perfect," he told her, "and I admit that my reasoning at the time was questionable at best. I thought that if you were dead, I could go about my business of bringing forth a new era. You would have died for that cause. It was that thought that kept me at peace with myself."

"That's horrible," she whispered, voice shaking, "I don't know what is worse; that you thought to put me out of my misery, or that you would force me to die for something I don't believe in."

The truth of her words, and his actions, stung him for the first time.

"I had intended for Himura to carry out the deed. He refused, unwilling to spill the blood of an innocent."

Furrowing his brows, Katsura pulled all of her hair towards him, separating the strands into three equal parts.

"I should have followed his example. I should have called off the mission entirely. I never imagined that the man I hired would be so sadistic.

"Himura would have killed you in less than one second. You would have felt nothing. Makoto, as it seems, takes his time. He _enjoys_ it."

As the memory came forth, Shousha shuddered. "I know."

"That's not what I planned and not what I had wanted. I was foolish to make the assumption that he worked in a similar manner to Himura and failed to instruct him to be through with you quickly."

As haunting as it should have been, Shousha wasn't disturbed by his dissection of the death sentence he had issued to her. It made perfect sense to her. Katsura was not like her. He was a man. He was a man who held a significant seat of power and with that power came the loss of any personal feelings. He had no choice but to act for the benefit of his revolution.

To do what is abhorrent in order to better serve the people.

"Kogoro?"

The soft tone of her voice surprised him and he begged her question with a small 'hm'.

"If I were to ask you to end my life right now, would you do it?"

"No," he replied softly.

"Why not?"

Reaching to his left, his fingers closed around her ribbon and he rightened himself, tying off the braid he had fashioned.

"Because even now I doubt you would die."

Satisfied with his answer, Shousha stretched her arms forward, framing the fading sun with her fingers and for the first time, letting a genuine smile grace her features.

"I can't die," she told him, "No. I _won't_ die. Not until I am able to see Soushi again."

"I believe that," he replied, standing.

And he did. If there was one thing he truly believed above all else, it was that.

xxxx

**Author's Note: **I know that was like, crazy long, but the three main points (the request, the punishment, and the truce) were all too connected and closely related for me to break them up in between Shinsengumi scenes.


	29. Torture

**Author's Note: **Trying to balance original fiction with fanfiction! Please excuse the mess and if I fall off this ball that's rolling beneath my feet, know that I'll be alright shortly. =P

Luckily I already had this chapter half-written since like, July haha

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs

**Changes in Friendship**

_Chapter Twenty Nine_

When Tokio had reported to Okita what had happened in the marketplace, his blood had run cold. When he calmed, she explained to him Shousha's living conditions and he sat back, breathing heavily.

"Was she telling the truth?" he wondered, staring up at Tokio hopefully.

She nodded with a soft smile. "We both know she's a terrible liar."

That was good, he thought. If Katsura did indeed have good intentions towards her, he would protect her from the likes of Iizuka. Okita shuddered inwardly. _If_ she pushed down her pride and _asked_ for help.

The likelihood of that was debatable.

Still, it was a comforting thought that she was not facing the hands of husbandly tyranny each night. That had to count for something.

With this information tucked in the back of his mind, Okita went about his daily business and for two weeks, absolutely nothing changed.

He missed Saitou and Tokio, he realized. While he saw both of them often enough, he was rarely with the two of them at the same time and he hadn't realized how accustomed to their banter he had become. For so long it had been a solid part of his life, and now it was gone.

It was a stupid thing to feel bad about; they were moving on with their lives, they were happy, and he should have left it at that. He was happy for them; he would never deny that, but even Harada had been running around chasing his lady in his spare time and now it seemed that his friends simply did not have time for him.

Loneliness was a new feeling for Okita and he didn't like it very much. It was as if everyone else's lives were plunging ahead at full speed and his was reeling backwards with just as much force.

The one thing he was thankful for was the fact that his consumption had subsided slightly. It was due to the mild weather, he knew this; he had lived through it the previous year. In extreme temperatures, he exerted himself more than he should, but in perfect temperatures his body found a balance and gave him a much needed break.

He should have taken his own advice, he knew. Taking an hour or two to calm down each day would no doubt help him just as much as it had Shousha, but the desire to drive his despair from his mind compelled him to keep busy at all times.

Keeping busy, especially during down time, was not always so easy. When he wasn't teaching, he had, at first, spent hours upon hours honing his own skills. It was exhausting, and unnecessary, but behind a sword, he could clear his mind, focus his body, and numb his thoughts.

This over-exerting had ended rather abruptly one day when Kondo had found him sprawled out, bokken in hand, completely unconscious in the middle of the training hall. It was a miracle it was only Kondo that had seen.

Since then, he had been forbidden to partake in any such activity again. He could train, but for short periods of time, and with a sparring partner. This didn't sit well with Okita and it stung his pride, but he knew that Kondo was right. If he were to have an attack and drop dead in the dojo, what would he have accomplished? What good would all of that extra training had done, if it had been his own swordplay that killed him?

So, with a sigh, he accepted the decree that his higher ups had set for him, and passed his time running errands. It was a completely ridiculous desire of his; he was the first captain, assistant to Hijikata the vice-commander, and he had reduced himself to an _errand boy_. Naturally, this caused whispers to ripple throughout the entire compound.

For all the questions and rumors that may or may not have flown around, none of them were voiced too loudly. No one dared suggest that he had gone slightly mad in his broken heartedness, and not a single soul was willing to speak out against him when he presented them with his findings for the day, sporting his sickeningly cheerful, yet freakishly hollow grin.

In fact, more than poking fun at him, most men had grown fearful of the first captain, not at all at ease with that twitchy smile or the bitter giggle that come forth in humor. They were all certain he had abandoned his soul completely, and was little more than a bomb who may explode at any sudden movement.

It would be by the grace of the gods if any of them survived.

If Okita was aware (and there was no doubt in anyone's mind that suspicions had reached his ever alert ears), he made no show of it. Every day he would don civilian clothing, and head off to the market, completely at ease with his choices, and blending in with the crowd.

Blending was easily the most important part of these outings. While it was fair to say he could hold his own with more than the average number of attackers, he simply didn't want to. Battles had their time and place. During a mission to purchase soap was not one of them. Additionally, despite his undying loyalty towards the Shogunate, he was willing to admit that he was growing weary of it all.

Swordplay was one thing. Taking lives was another.

Murder, no matter what the cause, became quite tiresome after a while.

The Shinsengumi caught word every now and then of their dignitaries meeting with those in service to the emperor. Naturally those in the highest power wanted to discuss, debate, and come to a logical and diplomatic conclusion without bloodshed, but for those below, peace was just simply not possible. The best they could do at this point was keep order.

And blend.

Sometimes, and all of the Miburo (even Saitou) would agree, being viewed as nothing more than another samurai walking the streets was peaceful enough. The lack of whispers, the absence of scathing looks, it was refreshing, normal.

But Okita was not the only man in the market who intended to blend in that day.

He didn't notice him, not at first, but when he heard the short cry of a familiar female, Okita's attention snapped to a cart not fifteen feet away from the storefront he had been admiring. Though he, too, was in simple attire, there was no mistaking it.

Katsura Kogoro was in the marketplace.

One hundred thoughts ran through Okita's mind at that moment, and none of them were coherent. When his eyes fell upon Shousha, standing behind her husband with a rather sour look on her face, he had to bite down on his lip so hard as to draw blood to keep himself silent.

Silently, he placed the soap back into the wooden bucket from which he had taken it, and slipped into the dark space between two buildings. There wasn't much space here; maybe only slightly more than a foot at most, but it was enough to be comfortable, yet closed in enough to keep him hidden from view.

He couldn't attack, not here in the midst of the crowd of innocents. It was frustrating to say the least, but for the sake of fighting honorably, he was bound to do absolutely nothing but watch.

Watching would be easy. It had been so long since he had seen Shousha's face and even at a distance she had his heart racing. When they moved closer, to the next merchant that lined the street, Okita concentrated on his breathing. He wouldn't let his _ki_, a combination of excitement, hope, and agony, give him away.

"Kogoro!" Shousha hissed, stamping one of her feet into the ground while her hand rose up to set on her hip. She had put away her silks, Okita noted, as she stood there clothed in delicately embroidered cotton. That was much better for her health anyway.

Katsura turned to her slowly, a reprimanding look in his eye for her having said his name aloud, but his voice (which Okita was glad to be able to decipher now that they were nearer), held no hint of threat.

"Are you too warm?" he asked, "we could sit in the shade if you'd like."

"I am _not_ too warm," she huffed, looking away into the darkness where her love stood. His heart skipped a beat.

"Your condition is extremely delicate," her husband went on cautiously, taking her arm gently, "you should not subject yourself to discomfort."

Tokio had been right. Shousha hadn't lied when she said Katsura was kind to her. Brain conflicting with his heart, Okita had half a mind to feel grateful to the man.

Before he had time to consider his inner thoughts, the woman at the cart spoke up.

"Delicate condition, you say? I've just the right thing for swollen ankles, 'specially in the heat that'll be comin' on soon, you see."

Though Shousha had no idea what swollen ankles had to do with tuberculosis, Katsura stepped in politely, clarifying the situation for both women.

"While your offer is extremely generous, madam, my reference to a delicate condition was not in relation to childbearing."

_Oh_, Shousha thought, letting her shoulders drop as she turned her toes inward, staring down at them. The term _delicate condition_ would never be used in reference to childbearing. Not for her. She had never considered it until now, but with the state of her health, she would never survive such a _delicate_ condition.

"Sorry then, sir," the woman told him, embarrassed. He may have uttered something along the lines of _it is no consequence_, and went along with his dealings with her, but Shousha was bored of this outing so she turned away, not listening.

She was thankful he had offered to take her, knowing how fidgety she became in her confinement, but due to the dire circumstances surrounding his mere existence, they hadn't been able to do anything fun. There were no sweets in her belly today, no new kimono on order. She had desperately wanted to attend the theatre, something she hadn't done in years, but even that had been considered an impractical waste of time.

_It is too dark_, Katsura had pointed out, _I can not guarantee your safety_.

This had her frowning. Each person they talked to, avoided, or even looked at, was determined by how safe _she_ would be should the events escalate into something dangerous. The same was true of the buildings they entered and the money they exhanged.

He said it often, how he needed her to be protected, but she didn't believe it. Losing a wife one didn't want in the first place really couldn't be counted as too much of a casualty. She certainly wouldn't bat an eye of _he _died.

Her thoughts traveled to Iizuka and as her arms came across her chest to cover herself, she reconsidered that thought. Katsura could die, just not yet.

Taking a few steps to her left, she stopped at a third merchant's stand, another small cart, this one sporting tiny wooden cages, dangling from every post that the man could jam into the sides of the wagon. Inside, tiny birds of all colours.

From his hiding place, Okita watched her. She was so close to him now he could see her thick sweep of lashes each time she blinked, and the rogue strands of hair that defied their tie and tickled her neck.

She was thin, he observed, thinner than usual. He wondered if she was eating properly. His own weight fluctuated more than it should have, and he often found himself forcing down food when his illness left him with no desire to eat. It seemed she wasn't as aware.

Katsura, however, was, and that was frustrating for Okita. Even if Shousha didn't remember how to properly take care of herself, she was living under the roof of someone who did, and it was quite clear that she was refusing his assistance in the matter.

This made him want to shake her. Many people had gone through great lengths to keep her alive and now she was opting for death.

No. He shouldn't be jumping to such rash conclusions. Putting a hand to his forehead, he sighed. His anxiety was getting the best of him.

"She's fine," he whispered to himself. When did he begin to think so rashly, he wondered.

Once Katsura was through with the merchant a few feet away, he came to stand next to his wife, admiring the birds with her.

"They are quite beautiful," he said, looking down at her unsmiling face.

"They shouldn't be in cages," she replied bitterly, "these birds are not for eating."

"I do believe these animals are meant for companionship," Katsura told her, leaning forward to examine a brilliant orange creature, "would you like one?"

When she didn't answer, he smiled, handed the old man a coin, and pulled one of the cages down, handing it to her.

"You may do whatever you wish with it."

Shousha peered into the cage. The small bird hopped along the bottom, winking it's beady black eyes at her and chattering on in a language she only wished she understood.

"I know," she whispered, sliding the wooden peg from the door, "you don't deserve this life."

Lifting the cage towards the sky, she nudged the small door open with one of her fingers, and watched as the little bundle of orange darted away into the sky.

Katsura watched her passively, keeping his eyes focused on her stony expression. Her face had remained in that position for weeks now, and though they were on pleasant terms with each other, he did wish she would do something other than just _stare_.

"Are you wishing you could fly?"

Shousha lowered the cage and turned to him. "No," she said, "it would make no difference if I had wings."

At this, he raised a brow. "Is that so? I imagine you would do all sorts of things if you had such a freedom."

"Flight is not freedom," she quipped, flicking her eyes towards the cages beside them, "just another reason to be hunted."

Tossing the cage aside, she turned, and caught a familiar scent. It wafted through the air like baked apples on a cool summer evening and she twisted her neck, searching for the source. When her eyes found the display of soaps, she lowered her shoulders and sighed, letting out a breathy, bitter laugh.

She reached forward, picking up a bar and holding to her nose. Yes, this was it. It smelled of _him. _

Okita shifted in his hiding place, watching the tears prick at the corner of Shousha's eyes as she relived their memories through the scent of his soap. He moved to back away, and Katsura's eyes snapped to the darkness. Okita froze, but while he kept silent, he knew that he had been discovered. Hand on the hilt of his katana, he prepared for the worst.

Shousha looked up at her husband, his eyes narrowed towards the alley just a few feet away.

"Is there something there?"

Shaking his head of the defensive glare, he gave her a soft smile. "Nothing my dear. Just a dog."

"A dog!" she cried, gripping the soap and taking a few quick steps forward, "I want to see it!"

His hand caught her wrist immediately, stopping her suddenly. She knew now not to fear him, so she turned to him curiously.

"Will it bite?"

"No," he said evenly, returning his stare into the darkness, "It cannot even think without the direction of its master."

"Oh," she replied sadly, "will it wait there all day?"

Ushering her back to his side, Katsura led her away, "There is nothing for it here. It will return home."

xxxx

"I won't tell you nothin'!"

Hijiktaka Toshizo stared down at the red face of a man, hanging by his ankles in the store room of the Shieikan dojo. He was a patriot, a Choshu revolutionary, by the name of Shuntaro Furutaka and recently arrested, fresh for interrogation.

"That is most unfortunate for you," Hijikata said with his silky voice, nodding to Harada Sanosuke who held in his hands two spikes.

"Now hold still," Harada said with a grin as he licked his lips, "you're gonna feel a little pressure."

With a swift stab, he jabbed one of the spikes into the man's heel, taking victory in the scream that resonated throughout the room. Blood trickled down his leg in a downward stream towards his face. He coughed and sputtered as it dripped into his mouth and up his nose.

With the other spike in his hand, Harada glanced over to him. "Whadda ya say?" he asked, "you ready?"

When he was met with silence, he shrugged, and stabbed his other foot. Another scream broke out. Hijikata examined his fingernails.

Stepping back, Harada looked towards his friend, and vice-commander. "Stubborn little bitch, isn't he?"

With very little expression, Hijikata walked away. When he returned, he motioned for Harada to step aside.

At that moment, the door opened slowly, and quietly, not letting any more sun in than was necessary in order for the person to step through, and Okita poked his head inside.

"I hear you're in need of a little bit of help," he said cheerfully, closing the door behind him as he stepped into the cold room. He gave Harada a short wave, then crouched down to address their prisoner.

"What's the matter?" he asked, cocking his head, "don't you wan-"

"Shut up!" the man screamed, twisting this way and that, "I won't say a word! You can't make me!"

In mock surprise, Okita looked up. "He is rather feisty, isn't he?"

"He will talk." As Harada forced the spikes out from his flesh, Hijikata replaced them with candles, no emotion etched into his perfectly placid face.

Okita watched the patriot grit his teeth. Veins popped out on his forehead, and mixed with the blood from his foot wounds. Sweat dripped from his topknot and onto the floor. Okita moved his feet back.

Hijikata lit the candles, and for a short while, all three Shinsengumi officers were quiet, waiting for the wax to reach its melting point and begin to drip its way down Shuntaro's calves.

While Hijikata and Harada each pulled up stools to wait until the man was ready to speak, Okita was far less patient.

"I am in a foul mood today, sir," he told their captive, leaning in close to his dirty face, "and it is in your best interest to cooperate."

With a snarl, Shuntaro spat up at the captain's face. Shocked, Okita put two fingers against the saliva on his cheek. As he stared at the man before him, a smile crept up his face, and the memory of the expression was burned into the revolutionary's mind forever.

Hijikata adjusted the candles.

This time, a cry of agony rang out. Shuntaro's eyes rolled up in the back of his head and Harada struck him with a bokken.

"Hey! Don't you dare pass out on us, you shit."

"Fuck you," came the man's forced whisper, "kill me if you want."

"We can't do that," Okita told him. His smile had faded a bit and he reached into the folds of his haori, pulling out a mint green hair ribbon, "there are people who need you."

"Yeah, like us," said Harada, eagerly anticipating what Okita, quite literally, had up his sleeve.

But Okita said nothing further, silently unfolding the silk. The more it unraveled, the faster Shuntaro's heart beat, the quicker his eyes darted about the room, the more labored his breaths came.

"You're a monster," he hissed, staring wide eyed at the bloodied ribbon.

Okita shrugged. "So they say. But you needn't fret. Your wife is still alive." He smiled cheerfully. "For now."

For a moment, it appeared as if Shuntaro would say something other than curses against the Shinsengumi, but keeping with his resolve, nothing useful came out of his mouth.

"Let her die then!" he cried, "she's better off. Better off in a place without bastards like you!"

Okita laughed then. It was a terrifying sound that bounced off the walls and echoed even in this small space. It was so happy, so carefree, that it sent chills clawing up the spines of everyone present.

Giving Shuntaro's cheek a frighteningly affectionate pat, the first captain stood.

"Don't be ridiculous, Furu-kun," he giggled, "I could never kill a woman."

The prisoner watched as Okita let the ribbon slip from between his fingers and coil up in the pool of his blood. As if it were salvation from a life long dehydration, it soaked up the sticky liquid greedily, gratefully accepting its new crimson shade.

"Also," said Okita, turning and placing a hand on the door, preparing to leave, "your daughter."

Shuntaro's breath caught. Hijikata and Harada watched curiously. There was fear in the man's eyes. Raw, human, paternal fear.

"What have you done to her?"

Okita said nothing at first, allowing the man to come to his own conclusions. When he did speak, he donned a wicked grin, the sort of smile that speaks of a hidden advantage, of inevitable victory.

"She's very pretty."

"YOU BASTARD!" Shuntaro thrashed, screaming profanities both from the physical pain, and the horrifying mental image of the Shogunate's dog preying upon his young daughter, barely entering into her adolescent years.

Harada jumped up, thwacking him again with the wooden sword. "Don't speak unless you've got somethin' useful to say!"

"The Ikedeya!" he screamed, "The Ikedeya, please! Not my girl! Don't touch my girl!"

Okita sighed with relief and gave a small wave to Hijikata as he left. The vice-commander would be able to carry on from there. Shuntaro was broken. They'd get their information.

"That was a bit dramatic."

Okita jumped, slightly startled by Saitou who had been listening by the door.

"Ah, Saitou-san!" he greeted cheerfully, "it worked, didn't it?"

"Where are they?" Saitou didn't think Okita would have actually gone and done any of the things he had implied, not to a woman, and certainly not to a little girl, but even the angular wolf couldn't deny his friend's mental state was questionable on a good day.

"At home, I think," he replied, "they were doing laundry when I happened by this morning."

Saitou nodded.

"Was I convincing?" Okita asked, redirecting the conversation and laughing as he went over the scene in his head. He had never thought to act before, and he wasn't a particularly good liar. He had his honest nature to blame for that.

Saitou slid his gaze over. "I think that much might be obvious."

"Right," he replied, "but would you have believed it?"

"Me?" the corners of his lips turned up, "if you had come to me with a ribbon covered in goat's blood I would say, 'Okita, you must be awfully bored'."

Okita's face fell. "I did ruin one of Shou-chan's ribbons."

"She-" Saitou paused. _She won't need it anymore_. "She will forgive you," he settled on, thinking better than to take an unnecessary jab at a friend.

"_Kyoto will burn!"_

They both turned to the storehouse where they could hear the muffled pleas of their captive, and the information he sputtered.

"I want to meet him," Okita said, "the man who makes it rain blood."

Saitou let out an amused chuckle. "And what would you do if you did?"

"I'd fight him, of course." The small captain sent his friend a teasing glance, "do you think I wouldn't survive?"

At this, Saitou was truly entertained. "My apologies. It was a stupid question."

xxxx

**Author's Note: **Yes I did steal that ending dialogue pretty much straight from the episode. I couldn't help it. It was just such a perfect exchange, I couldn't top it, and I can't envision it _not_ taking place.

Feedback is always appreciated! See you next time, or around one of my other fics :D


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